An American Crusader 

at .Verdun 



ftj Philip S.Rice 





m mm m 



£%' 



n™ T 1& + 

Book 7? 4-6 6* 



10 



CCPYIHGirT DE»X!SIT. 



An American Crusader at Verdun 




Philip Sidney Rice 



An American Crusader at 
Verdun 



By 

Philip Sidney Rice 



Published by the Author, 
at Princeton, N. J. 

1918 



€ 



1W 



Copyright, 1918, 
By Philip Sidney Rice 

Published October, 1918 

Printed in the United States of America 



MAY I 2 ' 




SCLA525442 



Foreword 

I hesitate to write of my experiences because so 
many books have been written about the war, and 
the story of the ambulancier has been told before. 

Many young Americans in sympathy with the 
Allied cause, and particularly the cause of France, 
and many Americans anxious to uphold the honor 
of their own country, when others were holding 
back the flag, went over as "crusaders" in advance 
of the American Army. Many had gone over be- 
fore I went; some have come back and told their 
story and told it well — and so, although I went as 
a "crusader," I am not the first to tell the story. 

But if my story interests a few of my friends and 
kin I shall be satisfied with the telling of it. 

Philip Sidney Rice. 
Rhodes Tavern, 
Harvey's Lake, Pa. 



Introduction 

A citation in general orders, by the Commanding 
General of the 69th Division of Infantry of the 
French Army, which declares that Driver Philip S. 
Rice "has always set an example of the greatest 
courage and devotion in the most trying circum- 
stances during the evacuation of wounded in the 
attacks of August and September, 1917, before 
Verdun,"* ought to be sufficient introduction in 

* Extrait de l'Ordre No. 238 du 19 Septembre, 1917 
Portant Citation d l'Ordre de la Division 
69 e Division d'Infanterie 
Etat-Major-l er Bureau 

Le General Monroe, Commandant le 69 e Division d'Infan- 
terie, cite a l'Ordre de la Division, les militaires dont les noms 
suivent; RICE, Philip S., Conducteur a la Section Sanitaire 
Americaine, 1 (20 Escad. T. E. M.) : 

A tou jours donne l'exemple du plus grand courage et de 
devouement dans les circonstances les plus penibles lors des 
evacuations des blesses pendant les attaques d'Aout et Sep- 
tembre, 1917, devant VERDUN. 

Le General Commandant la 69 e A. T. 
Signe : Monroe. 
Extrait certific conforme 
A. G. le 29 Septembre 1917 
Le Chepd Etat-Major. 

EDMOND CHAPILLIN, 

69 e Division D'Infanterie 
Etat-Major. 

vii 



Introduction 



itself to this story of an American Ambulance 
Driver who bore himself valiantly in those days of 
the great tragedy at Verdun. And yet for the 
story itself, and for the man who has written it, 
something can be said by one of his friends in ap- 
preciation of both the story and the man. 

The literature that is coming out, and which will 
come out, of the great war, will never cease as long 
as history shall recite the efforts of the German 
Spoiler to gain the mastery of the world, and fill 
the world with hate and hunger. Therefore, every 
bit of evidence that shall touch even so lightly on 
every phase of the conditions, and reveal even in the 
slightest sense a picture of what happened, will 
have its value. 

Of Mr. Rice, I can say that as a youngster the 
spirit of adventure was strong in him. He tried 
his best to break into the War with Spain in 1898, 
but his weight and heart action compelled his rejec- 
tion by the surgeons. He later, however, served 
with credit under my command, as an enlisted man, 
and as an officer of the Ninth Infantry, National 
Guard of Pennsylvania. 

When the United States entered the conflict on 
the side of the Entente Allies in the present war, 
Mr. Rice, knowing that he could not gain a place in 
the fighting forces, volunteered for service in the 
American Ambulance Corps in France. Herein 



Introduction 



is written the story of that service simply told, with- 
out vainglory or boasting. It is a story of a sol- 
dier's work — for it was as a soldier he served. 

Simply told, yes ; but well told. For instance, the 
recital of the story of that evening of July 13, in 
the after dusk, when the guns had silenced forever 
the voice of his comrade, Frederick Norton, when 
they laid him to rest on the side of the hill in view 
of the enemy, and the towers of the desecrated 
Cathedral of Rheims. And that other time, when 
in front of Verdun, the "slaughter house of the 
world," when nerve-racked he had stopped his car 
on the road, in the midst of the shells and gas clouds, 
when he said to himself : "If I do go and am hit, the 
agony will be over in a few minutes, but, if I turn 
back, the agony will be with me all the rest of my 
life" — so he put on his gas mask and drove on. 

The "Cross of War" is not given by France for 
any but deserving action. The men of France who 
commended and recommended Phil Rice for the 
distinguished honor conferred upon him knew that 
in every day of his service he deserved what the 
French Government, through General Monroe, 
Commanding the 69th Division of Infantry, gave 
to him — the Croix de Guerre. 

It is something to have been a part of it, to have 
visioned with your own eyes the scenes and the 
places that now lie waste upon the bosom of fair 



Introduction 



France ; to have witnessed the horrors of the deadly 
gigantic monster War as it is now being conducted 
"Over There." To have heard singing in your ears 
the whirr of the avions in the night air — to have seen 
with your own eyes the tragic diorama of the hate- 
ful and cruel side of war — and it is something for 
your children's children in the years that are yet 
to come to tell that in the Great War their fore- 
bear bore an honorable part. 

C. B. Dougherty, 
Major General National Guard of 
Pennsylvania, Retired 



Contents 

PAGE 
I 

The Voyage 1 

II 

"Over There" at Last! 11 

III 

In the Champagne Region 15 

IV 

Qualifying as a Driver 18 

V 

"Car No. 13" 21 

VI 

The "Crusader" 24 

VII 

"Raising Hell Down at Epernay" 29 

VIII 

Norton's Last Ride 35 

IX 

Bastille Day 40 

X 

Here Kultur Passed 45 

xi 



"Car No. IS" 

XI 
Verdun 49 

XII 

Awaiting the Big Attack 54 

XIII 

Under Fire in an Ambulance oC 

XIV 

The Big Shells Come Over 63 

XV 

Under the Shell Shower 68 

XVI 

Aftermath of Battle 72 

XVII 

In the Valley of the Shadow 76 

XVIII 

In Paris 81 

XIX 

Aillianville 90 

XX 

Vive 1' Amerique ! Vive la France ! 98 

XXI 

Afterthoughts 102 



Xll 



An American Crusader at Verdun 



The Voyage 

It was a glorious afternoon in Spring, to be ex- 
act, May 19, 1917, at about three bells, that the 
French liner Chicago moved out of her dock and 
started down the North river on the voyage to 
France, crowded for the most part with volunteers, 
entering various branches of service in the World 
War. There were doctors, camion drivers, avia- 
tors, ambulanciers — also a few civilians, half a 
dozen members of the Comedie Francaise returning 
to their native land and stage ; and more than likely 
there were one or two spies. It was the largest 
crowd of "Crusaders" that had embarked for 
France since the war began. 

The deck was crowded, too, with relatives and 
friends of those who were sailing ; there was waving 
of flags, cheering and shedding of tears, and it was 
my observation that those who were being left be- 
hind took the departure harder than those who were 
ieaving. But I suppose that is true when one starts 
on any long journey and I suppose it is especially 



An American Crusader 



true when one starts on the last long journey to a 
better world. 

Those of us on the boat were not bound for a 
better world, we were just bound by going to help 
make the world a little better if we could. But 
some whom I met on the voyage have since passed 
on to a better world. 

I am sure that most of the men on board were 
imbued with a spirit of seriousness. I was serious 
about the journey myself. Practically since the war 
began, I had been moved with a desire to get into it. 
I resented the invasion of Belgium, as have all red- 
blooded people, no matter what their nationality. I 
resented the murder of Edith Cavell; I resented 
the sinking of the Lusitania; I resented the atroci- 
ties committed, not against the people of any race 
in particular, but against fellow human beings; I 
resented the loud clamorings of white-blooded paci- 
fists and Prussian propagandists who would have 
kept us out of war at any price, even at the price 
of honor. When I finally reached the decision to 
take a small part in the war and acted upon that 
decision by enlisting as a volunteer ambulance dri- 
ver, I felt touched with a spirit of rest. 

I did not know a single soul aboard when the 
liner cast off and backed out into the river. I knew 
quite a few before we reached Bordeaux. Ship- 
board is the easiest place in the world to make ac- 

2 



The Voyage 

quaintances, and being alone I drifted about, per- 
haps, more than if I had gone on board with a 
crowd of my own friends. 

That morning in the Waldorf I had been told 
by Fred Parrish that a young fellow by the name 
of Meeker was going over for aviation and I had 
been told to look him up. A little later that same 
morning, while walking down Fifth avenue, bound 
for a bookstore to purchase a French dictionary and 
a volume of Bernard Shaw's plays (I already had 
a Testament), I ran into my literary friend, Mr. 
George Henry Payne. It seemed perfectly natural 
to run into George on Fifth avenue — he seemed 
perfectly at home there. George is cosmopolitan — 
he is at home anywhere. He had sometimes been 
in my "Little Red House on the Hill," my sum- 
mer home in Dallas, Pennsylvania. "Darkest Dai- 
las," George called it. 

This meeting with George on Fifth avenue has a 
bearing on my trip across. He informed me that 

a friend of his, a Miss Katherine G , was sailing 

on the same boat. George told me to introduce my- 
self to her and said he would communicate with her 
and vouch for the meeting. There was no time for 
a full description. George merely informed me that 
she was charming, though intellectual — that she had 
translated the works of Brandes into English and 
done a lot of heavy stuff like that. I confess I was 

3 



An American Crusader 



a little terrified at the prospect of meeting Miss 
Katherine G . 

The boat was soon headed down the river and the 
crowd of friends and relatives on the dock faded 
from view, still waving farewell. Before we passed 
the Statue of Liberty I ran into Meeker — a fine, 
wholesome looking young chap — dressed in a light 
spring suit — a flower in his buttonhole. I saw a lot 
of Meeker before we reached the other side. He 
had spirit, and speaking of going as a "Crusader," 
he remarked: "I would rather be a 'went' than a 
'sent.' ' At dinner I met a number of other fellows, 
among them a young aviator just out of Princeton. 
His name was Walcott.* 

I only kept a diary for a few days. I found that 
everyone was keeping a diary. One day on deck I 
heard a man reading a page of his to an acquaint- 
ance and I heard him remark with a show of pride 
that the other fellows in his stateroom were keeping 
their diaries by copying from his. I heard him 
read : "Arose at seven o'clock, took a bath at seven- 
fifteen; had breakfast at eight, on deck at eight- 
thirty, sea is choppy." And I thought to myself as 
I moved about the deck : "What an inspiring docu- 

*Stuart Walcott, Princeton 1917, son of Secretary Walcott 
of the Smithsonian Institution. The Princeton University 
Press has published his letters, under the title "Above the 
French Lines." Walcott was killed in combat, December, 
1917. 

4 



The Voyage 

ment to leave to one's descendants." So after 
about four pages of the brief one that I kept I 
find the following: 

"I wonder what the intellectual Miss G looks 

like — whether she is prematurely old, anaemic or 
possibly has a tuft of hair on her chin. I have 
never read Brandes but he sounds heavy. I called 

on Miss G last evening after dinner. Ports 

were masked — curtains drawn, the decks were black 
except for spots of fire indicating a cigarette here 
and there. But in the darkness there was singing, 
and it was good, too. The submarines have not 
ears — only one eye like the witches in 'Macbeth.' I 
decided to call on Miss G — and I approached her 
stateroom thinking of Brandes, of high-brow femi- 
nine youth prematurely blighted, of a tuft of hair 
and anaemia. The stateroom door was open and 
there were lights. The room was littered with roses 
and clothes and things. There was a feminine, 

human touch to that stateroom, but Miss G 

was not within. Perhaps she was on the deck some- 
where among those cigarettes glowing like fireflies 
in the dark. I hastily tossed my card upon her pil- 
low and returned to the deck. Miss G has not 

returned my call — I have not seen her to my 
knowledge." 

Later that first evening on board I went up into 
the smoking room and a cloud of blue smoke hung 



An American Crusader 



low over the occupants who crowded the room. 
They did not look like members of a peace commis- 
sion — some were dressed in khaki, some wore yel- 
low driving coats, one wore the uniform of the 
American Ambulance. Over at a corner table three 
French officers, in their light blue uniforms, were 
seated with ladies who I afterward learned were 
their wives. One of the officers wore the Croix de 
Guerre, which filled me with admiration and envy. 
At another table was a young French girl sur- 
rounded by admiring men. She was vivacious, 
possessed of a high color and beautiful teeth — even 
if she did smoke cigarettes. Her friends called her 
"Andree." At another table a lively card game 
was going on — later I got to know the participants 
— Harris, Lambert, Bixby, Branch, Foltz and 
others. 

Down in the music room it was crowded, too. 
Some one was playing the piano, and playing well. 
Altogether it was a likely looking crowd that I 
found on the boat. 

Among my early acquaintances was a promising 
young poet who I was told had already begun to 
fulfil his promise. He was just out of Harvard and 
lived at South Orange, New Jersey. We discov- 
ered that we had some things in common — we both 
liked cigarettes and disliked white-corpuscled paci- 
fists. We were photographed together by a friend. 



The Voyage 

I have always been willing to have my photograph 
taken with a successful poet, providing he wore 
good clothes and did not wear long hair. I was glad 
to be photographed with Bob Hilly er. He wore a 
blue serge suit, a light blue necktie and had rather 
sad eyes, though I thought he was too young to 
have suffered much. The well-to-do never suffer 
much at Harvard. He had a slight cold and I pre- 
scribed for him out of a medicine chest which had 
been presented to me before sailing. The next day 
he told me he felt much better. I did not tell him 
that I discovered too late that I had given him the 
wrong medicine. 

I met another young fellow who was not a poet. 
He introduced himself to me and said he had met 
me before somewhere. I could not recall the inci- 
dent, though his name was familiar. On better ac- 
quaintance I got to call him "Bridgey" for short. 
He suggested that we take a walk around the deck, 
which was in darkness except for the cigarettes 
glowing here and there. "Bridgey" fell over a coil 
of rope before we had covered the starboard side, 
after which he inquired the number of his stateroom 
and retired for the night. The next morning he 
came to me and confided that he was rooming in a 
cabin with a begoggled person of strong religious 
propensities who had taken him to task for his levity 
of the night before. I inquired what form his levity 



An American Crusader 



had taken, and he confessed "I tried to feed grapes 
to him when he wanted to go to sleep and then ac- 
cidentally smashed an electric light globe while 
taking off my shoe." I tried to comfort him with 
the thought that religion was not merely a matter 
of goggles. 

There were two fellows on the boat whom I was 
destined to know intimately later on after reaching 
the front. They were from Providence, Rhode 
Island. One was tall and slender and had red hair. 
His name I learned was Harwood B. Day. He 
will always be known affectionately to me as "Red" 
Day. The other was tall and slender and had dis- 
hevelled hair from constant reading. His name I 
learned was Frank Farnham. To me he will always 
be just "Farney." Day was returning to the ser- 
vice after a visit in the States. 

On a later page in my brief diary, from which I 
have already quoted, I find the following: 

"Sapristi! I have just met Miss Katherine 

G . She may be intellectual but she certainly 

is charming. She may have translated Brandes 
into English and done other heavy stuff like that, 
but she is not prematurely old. She is not anaemic 
and there is not a tuft of hair on her chin. She is 
young, she has black hair and black eyes and a kind- 
ly smile like a practical Christian. She is feminine. 
Her stateroom told the story — littered with flowers, 



The Voyage 

clothes and things. If the boat is hit I shall cer- 
tainly be one of several who will offer her a life 
belt." There my diary ended. 

The voyage was calm enough and without many 
exciting incidents. One of the passengers died. He 
was very old and feeble when he came on board, 
bound for his home I believe, in Greece. He was 
buried at sea early one morning before those who 
had gone to bed had risen. 

Many passengers slept on deck while passing 
through the war zone. The ship's concert took place 
a couple of nights before we landed. Many passen- 
gers stayed on deck during the ship's concert. Miss 

G and the two aviators, Meeker and Walker, 

took part in a one-act play. I wrote the play orig- 
inally but Miss G rewrote it because she said 

it was too "high-brow," which convinced me that 
she was wonderfully human though highly intel- 
lectual. 

Reaching France, we "crusaders" who had be- 
come intimate on the long voyage, which was all too 
short, went our various ways — some to aviation 
fields — some to camion camps — some to the Ameri- 
can Field Headquarters at 21 Rue Reynouard, 
Paris, France. Some I have seen since — some I 
will never see again. 

Coming out of an Eleventh Century Cathedral 
in Bordeaux with a couple of friends, I saw "An- 

9 



An American Crusader 



dree" pass by in an open carriage. She was smil- 
ing happily, showing her white teeth when she 
turned and waved to us as the carriage disappeared 
around the corner. 

I last saw Meeker and Walcott in front of the 
Cafe de la Paix in Paris. I wished them luck in 
their undertakings for the cause. Meeker and 
Walcott, aviators, have since fallen on the field and 
I am sure the world is bound to be just a little bet- 
ter for the inspiring sacrifice they have made. 

In Paris I met Frederick Norton, of Goshen, 
New York. 



10 



II 

"Over There" at Last! 

Friday, the twenty- second day of June, I arose 
upon a birthday anniversary. I had no intention 
of observing it, but I felt in a vaguely definite way 
that something interesting was to happen before 
the day was over; and this feeling was not long in 
growing from the vague to the definite. 

From the time of reaching Paris I was busily 
engaged in various ways at the headquarters of the 
American Field Service while impatiently waiting 
my turn to go to the front. I was more than im- 
patient — at times I was fretful. I even believe 
that upon cross-examination the heads of the ser- 
vice would admit that I was absolutely annoying. 
I supposed that I would be assigned to a new am- 
bulance section soon to be organized, but on this day 
I have mentioned, I was informed that I was to 
fill a vacancy in Section Number One, the oldest 
American Field Section serving with the French 
army. I was in luck. Section One had been at the 
Battle of the Marne, it had served in Belgium — it 
had been at Verdun in 1916 and had gained a glor- 
ious record for itself at various places along the 

11 



An American Crusader 



Western Front. I was to be prepared to leave 
Paris on Sunday morning, and to my delight I 
learned that Frederick Norton was also to join 
the same Section. 

While working together in the Paris headquar- 
ters we discovered that we had many mutual friends 
and this naturally put us on a friendly footing from 
the beginning. We found that our ideas coincided 
about many things and about people. I thought 
Norton had some pretty good ideas and was an ex- 
cellent judge of people. Sometimes when we were 
talking together he would say about someone: 
"How do you size him up?" And I would tell him. 
Usually our ideas coincided. Norton had been a 
traveller — he had been to Alaska — he had been 
North with Peary — he had been to Japan — he al- 
ready knew something of France — he had been a 
hunter — he had a pilot's license to drive an aero- 
plane — he had done some toboganning and skiing in 
Switzerland, which are not sports for the timid. 
These things I learned from him slowly, for he was 
extremely modest and not given to talking about 
his exploits. I was glad when I found that we were 
to start for the battle front together, and he was 
kind enough to say that he was glad, too. 

Saturday night and a short "Good-night" to 
Paris. A short "Good-night" because cafes close 
at nine o'clock, and besides I must be up early the 

12 



'Over There" at Last 



following morning. In company with my delight- 
ful pagan friend "Bridgey," I went around to a 
little quiet out of the way cafe, which was hardly 
known to Americans. The little cafe was kept by 
an elderly lady whose husband had been killed in 
the war and by her daughter whose husband had 
also been killed in the war. This mother and daugh- 
ter were excellent cooks, but their place was plain 
and comfortable. There was sawdust on the floor. 
Sitting in the little back dining room we could see 
into the kitchen and watch the meal being prepared. 
Across the street in the "Chinese Umbrella" there 
was more ostentation, style and atmosphere. The 
"Chinese Umbrella" was patronized mostly by 
Americans and the atmosphere was not Parisian. 

"Bridgey" had invited me there for a quiet, ex- 
clusive farewell supper, and as we sat in the back 
room of the cafe he regaled me with an account of 
how he had tried for aviation the day before. He 
was nearsighted and wore spectacles, without which 
he could scarcely see across the room. From a 
friend he had procured a copy of the alphabet eye 
test and had tried to commit it to memory; he re- 
ported for examination with spectacles in his 
pocket. He missed on the third letter, and being 
brusquely informed that he had failed, "Bridgey," 
who certainly had a sense of humor, smilingly ad- 



19 



An American Crusader 



justed his spectacles and bade adieu to the inspect- 
ing officer. 

Supper finished, I said "Au Voir" to Madame 
and her daughter, the two war widows, and then 
went off to bed. 

"Bridgey" was on hand next morning to see us 
start for the front. A few other acquaintances 
were at the station, too. I have not seen "Bridgey" 
since but I heard that he was at Verdun during the 
big offensive. 

Norton and I boarded the twelve o'clock train 
bound for the front. The train was crowded with 
French officers, grey haired Generals, Colonels, of- 
ficers of all ranks and of various branches of the 
service. There were very few civilians and not half 
a dozen women. Twelve o'clock, and Paris faded 
behind us as we started for the battle front. 



14 



Ill 

In the Champagne Region 

We left the train at Epernay, an important city 
some twenty miles back from the battle lines, but 
subject to air raids, as I observed from demolished 
and dilapidated buildings in various parts of the 
town, and as I was to learn from personal exper- 
ience before many days had passed. 

Here we were met by a member of Section One, a 
young fellow by the name of Stout, well named, of 
stocky build and robust appetite. Norton and I 
had eaten lightly and suggested that we repair to a 
cafe for luncheon before proceeding on to where 
Section One had its cantonment near the front. 
Stout said he would join us for company's sake, 
but that he had finished dinner just a short while 
before. As we ate and talked a large plate of pas- 
try was placed upon the table and Stout was pre- 
vailed upon to take one, and as we talked Stout 
emptied the plate and we called for more which we 
divided with Stout. After luncheon I caught Nor- 
ton's ear and said to him: "You heard Stout say 
he had his Sunday dinner?" 

"Yes." 

15 



An American Crusader 



"You noticed the vanishing plate of sweets?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, it looks to me," I said, "as if Section One 
is starving." 

That was before we knew Stout of robust appe- 
tite. But Stout had plenty of vim and vigor and 
was untiring, and later won the Croix de Guerre 
at Verdun. Stout and I quarrelled at Verdun, after 
which I had a genuine affection for him. 

We clambered into a motor truck, Stout driving, 
and were on the second stage of our journey to the 
front. We reached the town of Louvois about six 
o'clock. Here Section One had its cantonment. 
Louvois is a picturesque village, far enough back 
from the lines not to be entirely deserted by its 
civilian population, mostly simple people living in 
simple homes just as their forebears had lived in 
the same homes a hundred years and more before. 
Here we began to breathe the atmosphere of the 
war — here, night and day, we saw the movement of 
the troops to and from the front — we saw the pro- 
cession of camions carrying munitions and supplies 
— large cannons being drawn by many horses — the 
little machine guns — sometimes a fleet of armored 
cars equipped with anti-aircraft guns. Overhead 
we saw the large observation balloons and heard the 
whirr of aeroplanes. In the distance we could hear 
the firing at the front. 

16 



In the Champagne Region 



Supper was being served underneath a shed, and 
it was a good supper, too. Section One was not 
starving. We were cordially received by the mem- 
bers of the Section. "Red" Day and "Farney" 
were in the gathering. "Red" had served with the 
Section in Belgium. After supper we strolled 
along the street and listened while Purdy, a bright 
young fellow, told us all about the war. Purdy 
was six feet tall and as I later observed every inch 
a soldier. 

That night we were billeted in the second story 
of a dilapidated barnlike building from which the 
windows were all gone, and lying on my cot I could 
see the stars through the roof. That night a rat 
ran across my face. At last I was getting into 
the war. 



ii 



IV 

Qualifying as a Driver 

The following morning Norton and I, not hav- 
ing been assigned to cars, were set to work changing 
a tire. Down on our hands and knees we began to 
struggle — a few of the men were standing about. 
Norton laughed softly and whispered to me: 

"Have you ever changed a tire before?" 

"No," I said; "have you?" 

"No," chuckled Norton, but we quickly finished 
the job and felt very proud of our first effort. 

A little later I was taken out for a trial ride to 
prove whether or not I could really drive a Ford 
car. William Pearl, our volunteer mechanician, 
went with me on the run. Pearl had been a Rhodes 
scholar and had joined the Section some time be- 
fore. A couple of months after that trial drive he 
and I were destined to have a thrilling and trying 
experience, in which he was the principal actor. 

The trial ride took us along a road for about 
seven miles, where we came to the brow of a hill. 
Here we stopped the car and walked out into an 
open field and there I obtained my first glimpse of 
the war, spread out before us in a panorama. In 

18 




C 






73 



Qualifying as a Driver 



the distance, to the left, I could see the city of 
Rheims, the towers of its desecrated cathedral loom- 
ing up distinctly. I could see the shells falling and 
bursting in the city. Pearl informed me, as we stood 
there, that an average of two thousand shells a 
day were being dropped on the city. In front of 
us I could see the hills laid barren by shell fire and 
scarred by the lines of trenches. Overhead a Ger- 
man aeroplane had crossed the French lines — the 
anti-aircraft guns had opened fire — little puffs of 
cloudlike smoke appeared in the sky underneath the 
plane as it rose to higher altitudes. French planes 
arose in pursuit and finally the German plane dis- 
appeared from sight over its own lines. Directly 
overhead a bird was singing in a tree just as cheer- 
fully as if there was no such thing as trouble in the 
world. Looking back in the opposite direction I 
could see women and young girls working in the 
vineyards. 

As we started to leave the spot Pearl pointed to 
a town nearby on our left. 

"That is the town of Ludes," he said. "Notice 
where it is, because you will have to go there when 
on duty." 

I looked in the direction that he pointed, little 
realizing that the town of Ludes would be forever 
associated in my mind with the most tragic incident 
of my service in France. 

19 



An American Crusader 



Then we turned and drove back to Louvois. 
That was the full extent of my training for front 
line work. I was informed that I had qualified as 
an ambulance driver. 



V 

"Car No. 13" 

Having been duly declared a qualified driver, I 
was assigned to a car which happened to be number 
13, but as I am not particularly superstitious this 
did not make me nervous. 

Then I was sent to post for duty out at the town 
of Ludes. Here we had our headquarters in a little 
Swiss chalet hidden behind a clump of trees ; though 
within sight and sound of the war, it was peaceful 
enough, at least for those on war duty. Everything 
is comparative. Before many days had passed I 
was to see that peaceful little chalet stained with 
blood. The place was equipped with a telephone 
bell, which would signal when a car was needed at 
a front line post. Those on duty here answered the 
calls in rotation. 

About noon of my first day on duty a call came 
in for two cars. One of the cars was to carry 
wounded men back to the town of Epernay, the 
other car was to go to the extreme front line post. 
One of the calls was for Joe Patterson of Pitts- 
burgh, the other call was for me. Out of politeness 
to a new man "Pat" gave me the choice of runs. 

21 



An American Crusader 



It seemed to be much easier to get right into the 
serious work than to have the suspense of waiting, 
so I chose the run to the front line post. I started 
off over the hills, through the ancient town of Ver- 
zeney, famous for its wines — through the winding 
streets, turning sharply at a corner — down a long 
steep hill hidden from view of the enemy by camou- 
flage — past what was known as the Esperance farm 
till finally I reached the post. Here I stopped my 
car and waited. Here there was a canal, the waters 
of which had been let out, and into the canal banks 
had been built little dug-outs. In the one where I 
was to wait and sleep until needed were two rough 
cots, a shelf on which there were some rather dirty 
eating utensils and a loaf of dry bread. 

During the afternoon there was intermittent fir- 
ing but no great activity on either side of the lines. 
Occasionally an aeroplane would fly overhead. 
Once during the afternoon a German plane flew 
over in an effort to attack an observation balloon, 
but was successfully driven off by the French. 

The afternoon passed quickly enough without 
having my services called for and at supper time 
I had my first meal of trench fare with French 
poilus for company, a cup of hot soup, a chunk of 
meat, a slice of bread and a cup of coffee. The cook 
who served us was a big fellow with a black beard. 



23 



"Car No. 13" 

He was killed a short time after and his body lay 
all day in a nearby dug-out. 

After supper I clambered over the canal bank 
and walked along the empty canal bed observing 
the marks of German shells. Then there was a sud- 
den volley of shots from a French battery near at 
hand, the guns of which were so carefully concealed 
that I had not observed it. I quickly clambered 
back over the "safe" side of the canal bank and 
waited. 

I began to feel restless and to wonder when I 
would be called to get out into the battle of the 
night. 

In the meantime the firing had increased on both 
sides of the lines. 



33 



VI 

The "Crusader" 

It was some time after nine o'clock and growing 
dark when a French soldier came up and handed 
me a slip of paper bearing a message which had 
just come over the telephone. The message con- 
veyed instructions for me to drive down the road 
a couple of miles to a front line dressing station, 
where I would find wounded who had just been 
carried in. I was informed that the call was ur- 
gent. Though I am not fearless by any means, I 
did not feel frightened as I walked out to my car 
and started the engine ; but I noticed that my heart 
was beating rapidly. 

A few French soldiers waved to me and called 
"Au 'voir" as I got in the seat and was off down 
the road, first to the left, then to the right, then 
straight ahead as fast as I dared drive. The road 
took me directly in front of the French batteries, 
and in the growing darkness the flashes of fire from 
the guns and the concussion in my face made it 
seem as if they were firing directly at me, not over 
me. I drove on till I reached the post to which I 
had been sent, then backed up my ambulance around 

34 



The "Crusader 



near the entrance to the dug-out and stopped. An 
officer stepped up and shook hands with me and in 
English said: "The American drives fast." 

He explained to me that the wounded were be- 
ing cared for and would soon be ready for the jour- 
ney. A small group of silent stretcher bearers were 
standing near the entrance to the dug-out. The 
firing increased in intensity — the battle of the night 
was on. The officer remarked to me: "The Ger- 
mans are very angry." I handed the officer a cigar- 
ette and lighted one myself. I have found that 
tobacco is a great solace to the nerves when under 
fire. We continued our broken conversation. "Do 
you come from New York?" he asked. 

"Near New York," I replied. Every place east 
of Chicago is near New York when } t ou are over 
three thousand miles away. 

"Do you like champagne?" he inquired. It was 
not an invitation, he was merely getting my point 
of view. We were standing within a few miles of 
the richest champagne producing vineyards in the 
world. Then I looked in the direction of the dug- 
out, into the dimly lighted entrance, and I saw 
stretcher bearers slowly coming out bearing a 
wounded soldier and I braced myself for the first 
shock of the horrors of war. Gently the wounded 
soldier was lifted into my ambulance, then two more 
wounded were carried out. I closed and fastened 

25 



An American Crusader 



the back curtain of the car, started the engine and 
climbed into the seat. "Drive gently," said the of- 
ficer, shaking hands with me. "Thank you, good- 
night," and I started on the return trip, in the dark 
without lights. 

As I drove back to the town of Ludes, troops 
were moving to the front under the cover of dark- 
ness and I was obliged to blow my whistle continu- 
ally. Now and then a large camion would loom up 
suddenly in the darkness directly in front of me — a 
little blacker than the darkness itself — that is how 
I could see it. I would turn quickly to avoid being 
hit. We always drove without lights at the front. 
Half way up the long hill leading to the town of 
Verzenay the water was boiling in the radiator and 
the engine was hitting on three cylinders — I won- 
dered if I would make the heavy grade ; I wondered 
if a bursting shell would sweep the road; I won- 
dered if I would get the wounded safely back; I 
wondered about many things in those moments on 
my first night drive in the dark. On through the 
dark winding narrow streets of the town of Verze- 
ney, at one place driving with difficulty through a 
flock of sheep, on in safety to the town of Ludes 
to the building which served as a field hospital. I 
felt a great sense of relief when I drew up at the 
entrance safely back with my wounded. 

Then I drove back to the little Swiss chalet to 

26 



The "Crusader' 



await my next call. Before turning in for a little 
sleep I stood in the entrance listening to the contin- 
ual firing along the front and watching the signal 
rockets, the star shells, and the flashes of the guns. 
Then I went inside, climbed over a sleeping com- 
panion, found a vacant space on the floor, rolled up 
in my blanket, put my coat under my head and went 
to sleep. 

I had not been sleeping long when the telephone 
bell rang. It was my turn out again. This time I 
received instructions to drive over into another di- 
rection to a chateau which served as the headquar- 
ters of a French General. Chateau Romont it was 
called. There I was to await further instructions. 
So I parked my car in the courtyard and was led 
down into the dark cellar of the chateau. As I 
entered I could hear heavy breathing — evidently 
some one was sleeping there. A light was made and 
I was shown a rough cot where I might sleep until 
needed. Again I curled up in my blanket and was 
quickly asleep. I had only been asleep for a few 
minutes when some one touched me on the shoulder 
and awakened me. This time I was to drive over to 
the shell wrecked town of Sillery. It was then 
about four in the morning, the dawn was grey and 
then a streak of red in the east over the line of 
German trenches. The firing had subsided to some 
extent. 



An American Crusader 



Into the shell wrecked town of Sillery I drove, 
and I could see in the growing light that many 
houses had been levelled to the ground and there 
were none at all that did not bear the marks of 
battle. I drove into a court yard, inside the gate 
of which there was a large shell hole. Stretcher 
bearers were waiting for me — there was no delay 
this time. Two men were lifted into the car. They 
were suffering very great agony but I could see no 
marks of blood. I understood at once — they were 
victims of poison gas. 

This time there was no need to drive slowly back 
again to the town of Ludes to the hospital. It was 
broad daylight when I reached there. A sleepy 
stretcher bearer came out carrying a lantern, which 
was not needed. The two men were lifted out of 
the car and lowered to the ground. They were 
writhing in agony — one of them rolled off his 
stretcher into the gutter, and died at my feet. That 
was my first night on duty at the front — that was 
my baptism of fire. 



23 



VII 

"Raising Hell Down at Epernay" 

Sir Philip Sidney, for whom I believe I was more 
or less hopefully named, gained immortal fame by 
giving his last drop of water to a dying comrade on 
the field of battle. I desire to mention that I gave 
my last cigarette to a perfectly live stretcher bearer 
while under shell fire. For twenty-four hours I 
had been stationed at the dug-out in the canal bank 
in front of the Esperance farm; the place where 
I had been the first time I went to post. Several 
time since I had gone there and now felt quite at 
home in those surroundings. 

During the last twenty- four hours shells had 
been coming in with a fair regularity. The Ger- 
mans were endeavoring to drive out a battery which 
evidently had given them some annoyance. In a 
comparatively short period I counted more than a 
himdred shells, shrieking over my head, striking 
and bursting a hundred yards in front of me, throw- 
ing the earth in every direction, the rocks and pieces 
of shell spattering around close to where I stood. 
Several trees were cut down by the bombardment 
and they fell like so many twigs. 

29 



An American Crusader 



I had been alone during those twenty-four hours 
and had begun to realize that waiting for a run was 
quite as trying as the run itself, particularly as I 
could observe that when I did start I would be 
obliged to pass uncomfortably close to the comer 
where the shells were hitting. Toward the end of 
the afternoon some wounded came straggling in. 
After twenty-four hours under whistling shells I 
was glad to start back to Ludes and to a cigarette. 

I spent the early evening at the little Swiss cha- 
let. About nine o'clock I received a call to carry 
two wounded officers back to the town of Epernay. 
It was a beautiful, cool, moonlight evening and I 
enjoyed the prospect of the peaceful drive away 
from the sound of the war, not realizing that there 
was a rather interesting evening in store for me. I 
drove across the Marne into the town of Epernay 
at about eleven o'clock and took one of the wounded 
officers to the principal hospital there. The other 
officer I was instructed to take on to another hos- 
pital, located at the top of a hill on the outskirts of 
the town. Epernay is an old town and the streets 
are narrow, winding, and quite as confusing as 
Boston, particularly when driving at night with- 
out lights. 

As I pulled up the hill out on an open road in 
sight of the hospital, I saw a flash of light in the 
sky, followed by a sharp report — then there was 

30 



"Raising Hell Down at Epemay" 

a shower of lights much like rockets followed by a 
series of reports. As I stopped the car in the hos- 
pital grounds and was assisting stretcher bearers to 
lift out the wounded officer, I could hear the dron- 
ing of several aeroplanes overhead but could not 
see them. Hospital aides, half dressed in white 
trousers, and in bare feet, were crowded in the 
doorway. Everyone understood what was happen- 
ing. The Germans had come over in numbers for 
one of their periodical raids. 

Incendiary bombs were now dropping down in 
the heart of the town where I had just passed. 
Church bells were ringing as a warning for all civi- 
lians to take to their caves — a warning which 
seemed quite superfluous. There was a terrific ex- 
plosion, followed by a burst of flames which lighted 
up the sky. A building had been set on fire. Stand- 
ing beside my car, I took off my fatigue cap and 
substituted my steel helmet, which I always carried 
with me when not actually wearing it. Steel hel- 
mets have saved many lives. The bombardment 
became more furious as time went on — bombs were 
dropping on various parts of the city. Several 
powerful searchlights began to sweep the heavens 
and two broad shafts of light crossed, and in the 
cross they held in view a German plane. It was 
flying low and not far overhead from where I 
stood. The two searchlights followed the move- 
si 



An American Crusader 



ment of the plane and held it in the cross while the 
anti-aircraft guns opened fire. I could see the 
shells bursting underneath the plane but none hit 
and quickly the plane flew out of range and disap- 
peared from sight. But the raiders continued the 
bombardment. 

Having waited for some time for the firing to 
cease I decided to start back for post at Ludes. 
Unless there was very good reason for not doing so, 
we were expected to return to post as soon as we 
had finished the errand which had taken us away. 
To drive back it was necessary for me to return 
through the heart of the town were the bombs had 
fallen and were still falling. So far as possible I 
kept on the "shady" side of the street out of the 
moonlight, pausing at every corner for a moment. 
Sometimes there would be a deafening crash near 
by. I would stop — put my head down and my arms 
over my face, then would drive quickly into the 
next street. I passed the postofiice just after it 
was hit — pieces of shutters, doors and glass were 
littered about the street and I feared for punctured 
tires. I drove on a short distance, turned around 
and went back, pausing in front of the demolished 
building, but could hear no sound. The street was 
absolutely deserted. As I continued my drive over 
the deserted streets the only sign of humanity I 



32 



"Raising Hell Down at Epernay" 

would see was an occasional soldier with his gun 
standing in the comparative shelter of a doorway. 

Before leaving the town I stopped for a moment 
at the hospital where I had first been and an offi- 
cer who could speak a little English asked me to 
stay all night in the "cave." "It is a bad night to 
be out," he said. The invitation was alluring, but I 
decided to push on to Ludes. 

To get out of the town I must recross the bridge 
over the Marne, close to the railroad station, and I 
had been informed that raiders were making a par- 
ticular effort to hit the station. As I shot out across 
the bridge in the broad moonlight, in full view from 
above, I could see some freight cars burning. I 
wished that some friend were sittting beside me, 
but I often wished that on these lonely nerve-rack- 
ing night drives. 

When I drew out into the open coimtry I felt no 
inclination to turn on my lights, for I had heard of 
a staff car just a short while before driving over the 
same road. The driver had turned on his lights. 
The target was seen from an aeroplane — a bomb 
was dropped with accurate aim, demolishing the 
car and killing all the occupants. 

Reaching Ludes some time in the middle of the 
night, I stepped over the form of Curtis, who, 
curled up in his blankets, was asleep on the floor. 
He awoke and sleepily inquired: "Who's there?" 

33 



An American Crusader 



I told him. "Anything going on?" he inquired still 
sleepily. 

"Seem to be raising hell down at Epernay," I 
told him quietly, so as not to awaken anyone who 
might be sleeping. 

"That so?" muttered Curtis, and with no more 
show of interest went back to sleep. 

The next day I learned that many houses had 
been destroyed. Five wounded soldiers had been 
killed in the hospital where I had been invited to 
spend the night. 



34 



VIII 

Norton's Last Ride 

Frederick Norton and I were new men in an old 
Section. We were new men in an old crowd, conse- 
quently when we joined the Section we made no 
effort to break into any old established circles. 
When off duty together, he and I were accustomed 
to taking long walks across the fields and to the 
towns behind the lines and on these walks I learned 
to know what I already believed — that he was a 
man of exceptional character, quiet, unassuming, 
modest ; a gentleman in the best sense of the word ; 
a delightful companion, an ideal soldier. On one 
of our walks we talked some of spending "permis- 
sion" together on the coast of Brittany. 

I remember when I went to post for the first time 
Norton stepped up to me and shook hands, wishing 
me luck and an interesting trip. That established 
a custom between us. After that we always shook 
hands when either one or the other of us started 
for post. 

When we had been in the Section for a short 
while we were invited to join three of the older fel- 
lows and to transfer our cots to a tent underneath 

35 



An American Crusader 



the trees just outside the grounds of a very beauti- 
ful chateau, owned, I believe, by M. Chandon, of 
Moet & Chandon. We naturally accepted the invi- 
tation with pleasure and thus we became estab- 
lished as members of the old crowd. Formalities 
ceased from that time. 

The chateau had been converted into a hospital 
and at night a lighted red cross over the large iron 
gates showed the entrance to approaching cars. 

We had some pleasant evenings under the trees 
when off duty, even though we could hear the dis- 
tant firing of the guns. We sang some, a guitar 
and mandolin also furnished music. We listened to 
New Townsend reminisce about his experiences in 
Belgium in the early part of the war. Frank Farn- 
ham and "Red" Day occasionally sang a duet with- 
out much persuasion. With difficulty "Farney" 
was prevailed on to yodel. On one occasion Ned 
Townsend danced the dance of the seven veils by 
moonlight. Sometimes we would hear the whirr 
of an aeroplane overhead. The light in our tent 
would be extinguished by the first man who could 
reach it and silence would reign. 

So in spite of the war there were many pleasant 
moments. A spirit of comradeship grew up be- 
tween us all. Under such conditions, sharing the 
same dangers, the some hardships, the same pleas- 
ures, we grew to know each other better in a short 

36 



Norton's Last Ride 



space of time than would have been possible in 
years in the ordinary peaceful walks of life. 

Ned Townsend, the oldest man in point of ser- 
vice, remarked that the best of fellowship had al- 
ways prevailed in Section One — that it had always 
been more like a club in that respect than a military 
organization. He also mentioned casually that 
Section One had almost always been lucky — very 
few casualties had marked its long, arduous and 
dangerous career at the front. 

On the afternoon of July 12 I saw Frederick 
Norton starting for the front, and, following our 
custom, I went over to his car, shook hands with 
him and wished him "good luck." I told him the 
next time we were off duty together we must take a 
walk over the neighboring hills to inspect a windmill 
which had been erected about the time Columbus 
discovered America. Then he was off to the town 
of Ludes — to the little Swiss chalet hidden behind 
the trees. 

That night was a bright moonlight night — an 
ideal night for avions. Early in the evening those 
of us at Louvoise were having music under the 
trees. A few convalescent soldiers from the cha- 
teau hospital were sitting about in the grass, lis- 
tening. As the moon came up and shone through 
the trees I recall "Red" Day remarking: "The 
avions will be over to-night," and a short while after 

3T 



An American Crusader 



we heard the unmistakable crash of an avion bomb 
down the road in the direction of Epernay. 

It must have been pretty close to eleven o'clock 
that Frederick Norton was standing in the back 
window of the little Swiss chalet at Ludes, from 
which place he could get a glimpse of the battle 
lines through the boughs of the trees. He was wait- 
ing for his call to go to the front. His call was soon 
to come. He no doubt heard the whirr of the ap- 
proaching aeroplane overhead — he may have heard 
the deafening crash of the bomb as it struck the 
ground, making a crater in the earth and riddling 
the walls of the peaceful chalet. But then the 
sound of the war was forever silenced — for him. A 
piece of the shell had cut his throat — another had 
pierced his heart. He pitched forward, then fell 
backward on the floor. He had answered his final 
call. 

The following night I walked beside my friend 
Frederick Norton for the last time. He was not 
laid to rest until after dusk because his burial place 
was on the side of a hill in view of the enemy — in 
view of the towers of the desecrated cathedral at 
Rheims — as fine a place as any for a volunteer who 
had earned an honorable rest. 

There were French officers of high rank in the 
gathering to pay homage to the Volunteer Ameri- 
can — a priest, a Protestant chaplain, his friends in 

38 



Norton's Last Ride 



Section One — a squad of soldiers under arms. As 
we stood there in the growing dusk a German aero- 
plane flew overhead and swept the roadside nearby 
with its rapid fire gun. All looked up but no one 
moved. The benediction being said, we walked 
slowly away. 



99 



IX 

Bastille Day 

July 14, 1917, was "Bastille Day," the great 
French national holiday, and the troops were great- 
ly heartened by the fact that at last America was 
coming over to help them win the war. French and 
American troops were to parade together in Paris 
— the fighters at the front were to have a special 
dinner, with a cup of champagne and a cigar. A 
few of the men in our Section who had a short leave 
of absence coming due were going into Paris for a 
couple of days. 

Personally, I was glad that I was going out to 
the front on duty. I felt the need of active, strenu- 
ous work. During the forenoon several shells came 
shrieking over the little Swiss chalet, striking in a 
field a short distance back. A little while later I 
saw a dead soldier being carried into the town by 
his comrades. One shell struck in a field outside the 
town where a young girl was working in the vine- 
yard and she was obliged to desert her work and 
run for shelter. I wondered if the Germans had 
observed the movements of our ambulances in and 
out of the grounds of the chalet or whether they 

40 



Bastille Day 



were merely observing the French holiday. Some 
one remarked that following a custom of three years 
standing, they would do what they could to disturb 
the holiday dinner of the French soldiers. About 
noon a couple of shells struck in the town of Ludes 
but did no great amount of damage. A few civi- 
lians were still living in Ludes and in the kitchen of 
a little French woman we ate our meals when not 
out on a run. We supplied the food and she cooked 
for us. I remember during my first luncheon in that 
kitchen seeing her send her little daughters off to 
school with gas masks flung across their shoulders. 

"Bastille Day" was a fairly busy afternoon and 
that night there was no time to rest. Sometimes it 
was a call to go out to the Esperance farm — some- 
times a call to run into the town of Sillery — some- 
times to report at the Chateau Romont back of 
Sillery to await further orders. 

That night I had no sleep at all, though I made 
several efforts. Early in the evening I found my- 
self at the Chateau Romont, and when I was going 
to retire for a little rest I was not shown down into 
the dark cellar where I slept for a short while the 
first night I had been there. I was invited into a 
large back room in the chateau which had once evi- 
dently been a handsome billiard room. On the walls 
were deer antlers and a boar's head. The billiard 
table had been pushed over in a corner of the room 

41 



An American Crusader 



out of the way and in its place was a table at which 
officers sat poring over maps and reports. A tele- 
phone was on the table and on the walls were large 
maps. I stretched out on a bare rough "crib" to 
rest. One of the officers called an orderly and said 
something to him which I did not hear. The or- 
derly went into another room and returned with an 
armful of rugs. He placed them in the crib and 
once more I stretched out on this most comfortable 
couch. But just then the telephone rang. I got up, 
pulled on my boots, put on my coat, and as I started 
out the officer at the table smiled sympathetically 
at me and said "Bon nuit." 

Midnight in the little Swiss chalet. I had re- 
turned from a run and had lain down to sleep just 
outside the room where two nights before Frederick 
Norton had fallen. Again there was a call. Some 
time after one o'clock, at the dug-out in the canal 
bank in front of the Esperance farm, I again lay 
down, only to be called a few minutes later. I drove 
down the road to a post I had not visited before, and 
while the wounded were being placed in the car I 
was instructed to shut off my motor for fear the 
Germans might hear and open fire. The car being 
filled with three wounded men on stretchers inside, 
and one less seriously wounded on the front seat 
with me, I started off for Ludes. Along the road 



49 



Bastille Day 



I struck a small shell hole which gave the car a 
severe jolt and the wounded inside cried out: "Oh, 
comrade! comrade!" In the morning I discovered 
that the jolt had cracked the front spring of the car 
but the wounded had forgiven me for my poor 
driving. 

At Ludes the hospital was filled and I must push 
on back to the town of Epernay to one of the hos- 
pitals there. As I drove into the town at daylight 
I saw a strange sight. Straggling into the town 
were old men, women and children, all looking worn 
and bedraggled. Some carried blankets, some were 
pushing little carts in which were piled up house- 
hold belongings. Some of the women were carry- 
ing babies in their arms. 

The night before a warning had gone out that an 
air raid was expected and these civilians living under 
the shadow of the war had taken to the "caves" on 
the outskirts of the city for protection. 

I reached the principal hospital in the town and, 
as frequently happened, was sent to another hospi- 
tal further on. When I arrived there I was feeling 
tired, bedraggled, hungry and out of sorts myself 
after the all night strain. But if I felt like com- 
plaining I promptly changed my mind and decided 
to be cheerful. 

Stopping my car, I went around to the back and 



43 



An American Crusader 



raised the curtain. One of the wounded, a young 
fellow, looked up at me with the pleasantest ex- 
pression in the world and said: "Hello, boy 
Americaine! Good morning!" 

But that is the spirit of the French. 



44 



X 

Here Kultur Passed 

Toward the end of July we received orders that 
we were to move from the Champagne region, but 
we did not know just where we were to be sent. 
Early one morning, the order to move having come, 
we had loaded our cars with tents, supplies, automo- 
bile parts, all the paraphernalia of an ambulance 
section, and our personal belongings, and had 
formed in a line on the main thoroughfare of the 
picturesque town of Louvois. Stevenson drove up 
to the head of the procession, blew his whistle once 
and every engine was started; he blew his whistle 
twice, and we were off down the road in the direc- 
tion of Epernay. The villagers of Louvois were 
on the street to wave us "Au 'voir." There were 
old men, women and girls. The young men were 
all at the front. 

Outside the town of Epernay we drew up along- 
side the road and waited further instructions. Some 
thought we were going to Belgium, others said 
we were going down into the Verdun sector. Our 
French Lieutenant, Reymond, had gone on ahead 
in his car for orders. Presently he returned and we 

46 



An American Crusader 



learned that we were to drive in the direction of 
Verdun. 

Stevenson, at the head of the procession, blew 
his whistle and once more all cars were started — 
soon we were rolling along the road. 

At noon we reached Chalons, where we had lunch- 
eon in a cafe crowded with French officers. By late 
afternoon we reached the outskirts of the town of 
Vietry, and as we drove into the town we saw a 
squad of German prisoners, under guard, marching 
along the road. If they noticed that we were Ameri- 
cans, they showed no emotion even if they felt any. 
At Vietry we were to spend the night. We were 
shown to a large barn in which to sleep. Some 
Russian troops had occupied the barn a short while 
before and the straw littered about looked rather 
risky. As it promised to be a clear night some of us 
decided to sleep out in the open field under the 
trees. The cows were less to be feared than the 
straw in the barn or even the avions above. 

Having parked our cars, several of us strolled to 
the banks of the historic Marne and were quickly 
splashing around in the refreshing though muddy 
water. Then over to a cafe in the city for supper. 
The supper developed into a banquet. It was the 
first time in a great while that the entire Section and 
its French attaches had all sat together at one time 
and everyone off duty. Singing commenced before 

46 









i 4 *> 

- ■ 




o 



o 






Here Kultur Passed 



the meal was half over, and if not all harmonious 
it was at least hearty. The darkness came on but 
no lights were made in the room on account of 
danger from the avions, but the hilarity did not die 
out in the growing gloom. 

Roy Stockwell was obliged to sing several verses 
of a war song which was called "Around Her Leg 
She Wore a Purple Ribbon," in which every one 
joined in the chorus, singing: 

"Far away, far away, 
She wore it for her lover 
Who was far, far away." 

"Winnie" Wertz, the French cook, sang a pas- 
toral song of peaceful life on the farm after the war 
was over. One or two men tried to make speeches 
but received scant encouragement. The singing 
continued till late in the evening, when we wended 
our way back to the open field for a night of peace- 
ful sleep under the trees. As we walked through 
the city on the way a quartette was lustily singing : 

"Far away, far away, 
She wore it for her lover, 
Who was far, far away." 

No doubt the French inhabitants awoke to shrug 
a shoulder and patiently mutter: "Oh, those ter- 
rible Americans." 

47 



An American Crusader 



The next morning we were on our way to Bar 
le Due, a picturesque city nestled between high hills. 
At the top of one of these hills, as we started the 
steep descent into the city, we passed a large con- 
vent almost totally destroyed by avion bombs. Bar 
le Due is always subject to air raids and shows many 
marks of the war on its principal streets. Again 
we stopped for the night and here I slept on the 
sidewalk with my head against a sentry box so that 
no one would fall over me. 

On to the town of Evres through a country, as 
we advanced, showing more and more plainly the 
desolation and waste of the war. Through towns 
deserted of all civilians, over roads dry in the mid- 
summer sun and unspeakably dusty from the con- 
tinual travel toward the front. One afternoon in 
Evres, Curtis and I dropped into the home of an 
elderly French peasant woman for a lunch of de- 
licious cottage cheese and a jug of fresh milk. The 
peasant woman had a sad story to tell. Her hus- 
band was dead; her son's home in the village had 
been destroyed ; he had been taken prisoner and his 
wife had fallen victim to the advance of Prussian 
kultur. 

At Evres we waited to move on to Verdun and 
there we learned of the great offensive that was soon 
to take place and we watched the preparations for 
it on a vast scale. We were deeply impressed. 

48 



XI 

Verdun 

When we moved up on the morning of August 
first to take our small part in the big offensive, we 
established our cantonment in the town of Houdain- 
ville, within about three miles of the city of Verdun. 
The town of Houdainville was conspicuously a war 
town, being deserted by all civilians, crowded with 
troops and subject to intermittent shelling. The 
houses were all old and many bore the marks of bat- 
tle. Some of our men were billeted together in the 
second story of a building which was infested with 
rats. The quarters were so small that it was neces- 
sary to crowd the cots uncomfortably close together. 
Others of us pitched a tent in a barnyard. It was 
muddy, unsavory and very different from the place 
at Louvais, where we had our tent pitched under 
the trees outside the chateau of M. Chandon. We 
realized that we were not to see the war at its worst 
and we felt reconciled to added hardships by the fact 
that our Section had been assigned to the very ser- 
ious work ahead. 

That there was very serious work ahead, indeed, 
had been brought home to us while having seen for 

'49 



An American Crusader 



days and nights the continual stream of troops, 
heavy guns, supplies and munitions moving toward 
the front. We had been told that preparations for 
this offensive had been going on for months. 

Had I been so inclined, which I was not, there 
was little time to complain of our surroundings — 
barely time to note them before I was sent out to 
post duty. Now we were to be on post duty for 
twenty-four hours and then off duty for twenty-four 
hours, in which to work on our cars and rest. This 
schedule was based on all of the cars in the Section 
being able to run, but there were times when some 
of the cars were not available. 

I was sent out to a post at Cassairne Marceau, 
at the top of a hill about three miles in front of Ver- 
dun, near the spot which marks the extreme advance 
of the Crown Prince in his attack of 1916. Near 
here the French had stood and said: "They shall 
not pass." They never did, and I am sure they 
never will. 

Looking back from Cassairne Marceau I could 
see the ancient fortified city of Verdun, crowned by 
its cathedral on a hill. Close at hand were the re- 
mains of barracks built shortly before the war. All 
about was desolation, shell holes, pieces of exploded 
shells. In front of the post was a graveyard and 
during my many times at that post there was not a 
day that I did not see the dead being laid to rest. 

50 



Verdun 

Here the war was seen in its most hideous aspect. 
Sometimes a wagon would come rumbling up to the 
post with dead piled up like so much cordwood. 

My first call to go from here to a front line post 
came before sunset. The post was near Fort Vaux. 
An officer rode with me to observe whether the road 
could be covered by a car. It was a road that no 
sane person would undertake in peace times under 
any consideration. Down a ravine between two 
hills, in a country laid absolutely barren by contin- 
ual shell fire, the sides of the hills were pock-marked 
with shell holes ; and where at one time, three years 
before, there had been a beautiful forest, there was 
not now a tree stump, a bush or a patch of grass. 
We drove along the road very slowly indeed, for 
there was danger of breaking springs and axles in 
passing, as we drove close to the artillery as they 
were firing. I was later glad for the opportunity 
of seeing that road before sunset, for I sometimes 
covered it afterward in the darkness without lights. 

We reached the poste de secour, picked up three 
wounded artillerymen and returned with added cau- 
tion to Cassairne Marceau. It was very trying 
when we wanted to drive fast, in order to get back 
as quickly as possible to a place of comparative 
safety, that we were obliged to drive most slowly to 
save our wounded and our cars. 

Sometime around eleven o'clock that night I lay 

51 



An American Crusader 



down on a stretcher in the dug-out at Cassairne 
Marceau to snatch a little sleep while waiting for 
my next call. At that time I was still in good condi- 
tion and had not yet suffered from great fatigue or 
undue nervous strain and consequently could sleep 
at any time and in any place that the opportunity 
offered. Later on I was to become so fatigued and 
my nerves were so shaken from the continual strain 
that I could not sleep at all. The dug-out served 
as a dressing station and was equipped for opera- 
tions — surgeons were in attendance there. The place 
had the odor of a hospital, with the added unpleas- 
ant damp odor of the underground. Not a very 
satisfactory place in which to sleep, but we slept 
there many times. 

I was just dozing off when I heard voices, foot- 
steps and a moaning which was very distressing; and 
I was sufficiently conscious to realize that some one 
badly wounded was being carried in. But I must 
rest — I must sleep while the opportunity offered, 
so I dozed fitfully, never being quite unconscious of 
the fact that close by me an operation was being per- 
formed. Finally I was fully awakened by some one 
touching my foot. I sat up — the operation had been 
completed and I was to take the desperately wound- 
ed man back to a hospital in Verdun. 

It was well past midnight when the man was 
lifted into the car and I started on my dark ride, 

52 



Verdun 

driving slowly. I had not yet been inside the walled 
city of Verdun. I did not know just where the hos- 
pital was. I had simply been informed that by 
crossing a certain bridge, entering a certain gate and 
turning down a certain street I would find it. I car- 
ried few wounded men who moaned in greater 
agony than did this soldier as I drove on back to 
Verdun. I found the bridge and crossed it. I 
passed through the gate inside the city walls and I 
drove slowly through the dark, silent, apparently 
deserted city. It seemed indeed like a city of the 
dead. I came to a square and in the darkness took 
the wrong street. I was doing the best that could 
be done, and I hoped the wounded soldier would live 
till we reached the hospital. I wished for someone 
to talk to — for some one to help me find the way. 
Finally I saw a sentinel on duty and he directed me 
down the right street and before long we came to 
the house which was serving as a hospital. 

That was my first entrance into the ancient forti- 
fied city of Verdun. When I saw the inside of my 
car at daylight I was glad that we had met with the 
sentinel when we did, for I think there could have 
been but little time to lose. 



53 



XII 

Awaiting the Big Attack 

We had not been many days at Houdainville 
when we received orders to move up to Beveaux, 
just a short distance outside the walled city of Ver- 
dun. The big attack had not yet taken place but 
was expected at any time. In the meanwhile the 
artillery activity was daily increasing. 

At Beveaux there was a large hospital which was 
almost vacant when we moved up there and pitched 
our tents. It had been made ready for the big at- 
tack and would probably accommodate fifteen hun- 
dred wounded. The preparations for the offensive 
were most impressive and tended to make us 
thoughtful. Though we were now closer to the 
front, the location of our cantonment on high, open 
ground was a welcome change to all of us. Those 
of us who in Houdainville had our tent in that 
muddy, unsavory barnyard were glad to get out. 
Those in the Section who had slept in the crowd- 
ed, rat-ridden house, were more than glad of the 
change. That we were close to the war, in fact 
actually under it, even when off duty, was impressed 
upon us at supper time that first evening at Be- 

54 



Awaiting the Attack 



veaux, when several shells struck within the hospital 
grounds and some hit the large stables adjoining, 
killing horses and wounding men. We all ran for 
shelter, and supper was delayed for some time. 
The hospital was shelled on several occasions after 
that. 

During our stay at Beveaux we usually retired at 
night with most of our clothes on, partly on account 
of the avions and partly because our work was so 
arduous that we were likely to be called in the night, 
even when supposedly off duty. On retiring we 
always had our steel helmets and gas masks within 
reach. Frequently at night when the avions came 
over we were obliged to get out of bed and run for 
the nearby trenches. A canvas tent affords mightly 
little protection against shell fire! 

We expected to be at Beveaux for but a very 
short time before being sent back for a rest, but 
the days went on, the long nights went on and the 
weeks rolled around before we were relieved. 



55 



XIII 

Under Fire in an Ambulance 

Twenty-four hours on duty — twenty-four hours 
off duty: that was the schedule in the Verdun sec- 
tor, based on all the cars being able to run, but there 
was not a day or night that cars were not put out of 
commission, which meant that the work of those 
who were running was increased. Theoretically 
speaking that was the schedule; practically speak- 
ing there was no schedule. Sometimes we were on 
duty thirty hours at a stretch, though perhaps in 
that time we could snatch a little sleep between 
runs; sometimes there was no sleep at all. The 
days were bad, the nights were worse, and day or 
night, either on or off duty, we were always under 
fire. Almost every time a man came back from 
post he had an experience to tell — it seemed that 
on our runs we escaped by a matter of seconds; 
shells were always hitting just behind us, in front 
of us and around us. We saw bloodshed all the 
time. The Twenty-third Psalm speaks of "the 
valley of the shadow of death." That describes the 
desolate land about where we were. Verdun will 
go down in history as the slaughter house of the 
world. This was real warfare. 

56 



Under Fire in an Ambulance 



We were working hard all the time but we were 
buoyed up by the fact that soon, almost any day, 
the big attack would take place and then we would 
be sent back for a rest. The attack was to have 
taken place on August first but was postponed from 
day to day so that more guns might be moved into 
position, and more supplies, munitions and men 
moved up. Every night on the road we saw that 
endless procession of supply trucks, munitions, 
guns and men. 

We were covering many posts — we were getting 
very tired even before the attack took place. One 
night the General commanding a division at Fort 
Houdrement asked for more cars to be stationed 
there and he was informed that were no more cars 
to spare. 

He asked "Why?" and was informed that all of 
our cars were out. 

He asked "Where?" and he was informed of the 
various posts that we were covering. He expressed 
great surprise. He thought we were merely serv- 
ing his division. We were serving an entire Army 
Corps. 

Fort Houdrement was a bad spot and it was a 
hard road to travel to reach there, but bad as it 
was there were other posts which most of us came 
to dread more. I first saw Fort Houdremont in 
broad daylight. Before that our cars had only gone 

57 



An American Crusader 



there at night, because the road was so exposed. 
That I first went there in daylight was not because 
of bravery on my part or because of a desire to es- 
tablish a precedent. It was just the result of an 
accident. 

I had turned in to sleep one night — or to sleep as 
much of the night as might be possible. A couple 
of my friends had also lain down to sleep. As we 
lay in the darkness under the shelter of the tent we 
could hear the firing of the artillery all along the 
front. Then a sudden gust of cool wind blew the 
flaps of the tent and we heard the patter of rain 
above our heads. A thunder storm was coming on. 
The sound of the thunder was mingled with the 
noise of the artillery. Our tent was occasionally 
lighted by flashes of lightning and I could see my 
companions lying awake on their cots. The rain 
came down in torrents, the lightning became louder 
and the roar of the artillery less distinct, until when 
the storm had reached its height the pouring rain 
and the sound of the thunder drowned out the sound 
of the artillery. And as we lay there one of my 
friends spoke up in the darkness and said quietly: 
"Phil, it sounds as if God in Heaven is still omni- 
potent." And I said: "Yes, I am glad that God 
in Heaven is still omnipotent in spite of the fact 
that the tent is leaking right over my face." Then 



58 



Under Fire in an Ambulance 



I pulled the blankets over my head and dozed off 
to sleep — but not for long. 

I was soon awakened and told it was my turn out. 
It was still raining hard and I could hear the thun- 
der and see the flashes of lightning as I bundled up 
and went out to my car and started out to find Fort 
Houdremont. I had never been there. I merely 
had a general direction as to where it was. It was 
a bad night for a ten-mile ride to a post I had never 
been to. It was not quite midnight when I started. 
The roads were slippery and crowded with traffic 
and progress was slow. About four miles out traffic 
was blocked for over half an hour, part of which 
time I dozed sitting at the wheel. Then once more 
motors began to whirr, trucks were groaning, horses 
were pulling and tugging, officers on horseback 
were shouting orders. 

The procession moved on, getting nearer the 
battle, and along the road we could see the flashes 
of fire from the artillery and the exploding shells as 
they struck. On through the town of Bras, a deso- 
late shell wrecked place, then on about a half a 
mile beyond. There I saw a chance to make time 
and gain ground by pulling out of the procession, 
driving ahead and crowding into an opening fur- 
ther on. A large motor truck loomed up in front 
of me. I turned sharply to escape being hit and 
ran into a ditch. I was hopelessly stalled. 

59 



An American Crusader 



One of our cars, driven by Holt, came directly 
back of me. He stopped to see if he could give me 
help. I told him it was impossible for us to pull 
the car out. He saw that for himself and as he 
drove on he shouted "Good-night" to me and I 
called back "Good-night" to him. 

He could not have gone far when I saw a shell 
burst directly down the road over which he had 
gone. I wondered how close a call he had. Next 
day he told me he had jumped out of his car and 
was crouching in a ditch when the shell struck. 

I stood alongside of my car in the rain and mud, 
shells coming in along the road as the procession of 
the night moved past me. Every one had his work 
to do and must move on. Once four poilus paused 
long enough to see whether they could help push 
my car out of the ditch, but it was useless and they 
went on. 

There was nothing to do but to wait for daylight ; 
and it was a long wait. During the night two 
horses were killed beside my car. 

The dawn came on slowly, the rain stopped, the 
firing became less intense. The procession of the 
night had disappeared I knew not where. An 
empty ammunition wagon came clattering up the 
road, the driver cracking his whip and urging the 
four horses to greater speed. When the sun finally 
appeared I found myself alone in view of the ene- 

60 



Under Fire in an Ambulance 



my. Alone, excepting for the two dead horses lying 
in the road. Then I went for help. 

I walked back to the town of Bras and if it 
looked forlorn at night it looked even more so in 
the daylight. Places where some houses had once 
stood were now merely marked by debris tumbled 
into the cellars — dead horses were lying about. A 
French ambulance gave me a lift back to Verdun 
and there I found one of our cars which took me 
back to our cantonment, where I reported my diffi- 
culties. Stevenson called to Hanna, who was off 
duty, and in his car we three drove back over the 
road to where I had abandoned my ambulance. 

I really was sceptical about finding anything 
more than a pile of wreckage, but the car was still 
there and so were the two dead horses. Before we 
proceeded to pull my car out with the aid of Han- 
na's car, I tenderly lifted an unexploded shell from 
under the rear wheel, carried it over to the other 
side of the road and laid it down. 

Then on to Houdrement — Stevenson riding with 
me and Hanna following in his car. Reaching 
there, we walked up the side of a steep hill to the 
dressing station and inquired for any wounded that 
might be there. I was caked with mud from head 
to foot. A French officer smiled at my appearance. 
I saluted and he extended his hand. The French 



61 



An American Crusader 



officers were usually quite as polite to us as if we 
were officers ourselves. 

We found some wounded who would otherwise 
have been kept there until darkness had set in. Af- 
ter that our Section covered the run to Fort Hou- 
dremont in daylight with regularity; and in spite 
of the fact that the road was exposed to view, most 
of us found the daylight run much less nerve- 
racking than in the night. 

"Do the boche fire on ambulances?" I have some- 
times been asked. 

"Certainly!" I have answered. 



69 



XIV 

The Big Shells Come Over 

The days and nights went on, but still the attack 
did not take place, but the artillery duels were 
growing in intensity every night. 

If there was any belief that preparations for the 
attack were not known, this belief was dispelled 
when the Germans erected a sign over their trenches 
reading — 

"We will be waiting for you on the fif- 
teenth" — but the fifteenth passed by and — the at- 
tack did not take place. We were getting very 
tired — we were becoming conscious that we had 
nerves — the driving became more hazardous and 
terrifying with the increased activity of the artil- 
lery. 

Early on the evening of August seventeenth, 
I was off duty and was standing talking to some 
of the fellows, enjoying an after supper pipe and 
watching the anti-aircraft guns popping at a Ger- 
man aeroplane when Stevenson walked up. He 
said a telephone message had just come in inform- 
ing him that Stockwell had broken the front spring 
of his car out at Fort Houdremont. I was to take 

63 



An American Crusader 



a new spring out and Pearl was to go along to help 
make the repairs. 

William Pearl was our volunteer mechanician 
and had been with the Section for some time. Be- 
fore that he had been a Rhodes scholar. After the 
war he would practice law. 

Pearl and I started off and we had not gone far 
when it began to rain — it frequently rained at Ver- 
dun. We stopped to slip our rubber ponchos over 
our heads. Perhaps that brief delay was the cause 
of what happened shortly after. A matter of sec- 
onds sometimes changes destiny when at the front. 
I recall that on one occasion I slowed down my car 
for a few seconds, j ust long enough to light a cigar- 
ette, and as I paused a shell struck on the road, not 
far in front of me. I am sure but for the lighting 
of that cigarette, the shell would have scored a di- 
rect hit. Yet some people say that cigarettes are 
an unmixed evil! 

We drove on in the rain along the bank of the 
Meuse past the city of Verdun, up a long hill along 
which were formed the troops, the munition trucks, 
the cannon, the camions waiting to move toward the 
front under darkness ; and when the procession once 
started to move, we knew from experience that 
progress would be slow along the road. So we 
drove as rapidly as possible, and as we drove, we 
got into conversation and Pearl told me that in all 

64 



The Big Shells Come Over 



his experience Section One had never known any- 
thing worse that what we had been through at Ver- 
dun. I had heard Ned Townsend say the same 
thing, and Townsend had been at the front most of 
the time since the war started. 

As we began to descend the long hill, we could 
see shells striking near the road and when we 
reached the bottom of the hill, we came to a large 
camion ditched and deserted on one side of the road 
and on the other side of the road a large shell hole. 
It was now dusk and I stopped my car to see 
whether I could pass without running into the hole. 
Then we heard the terrific shriek to which our ears 
had become accustomed — and then the crash. Pearl 
had stepped partly from the seat and had crouched 
down — I had put my head down and covered my 
face with my arms. The pieces of shell and rocks 
spattered around the car and hit it in several places. 
Each fraction of a second I expected to feel a sting- 
ing sensation but I quickly came to a realization 
that I was not scratched. I raised my head and 
asked — "Are you all right, Pearl?" Then I saw 
a magnificent display of calm courage. As he stood 
up, Pearl replied as quietly as if he had discovered 
something wrong with the front tire : "I think my 
arm is gone." 

It was not gone but badly shattered. With nerves 
calm and head cool, though he was bleeding badly, 

65 



An American Crusader 



he got up on the seat beside me. The nearest dress- 
ing station was at Houdrement and we drove on. I 
am not sure, but I think a shell must have struck be- 
hind us at that moment because I later discovered 
a hole in the rear curtain of the car and the rear 
hub cap was cut as if by a steel chisel. 

At Houdrement we left the car at the cross roads 
and started to climb the steep muddy embankment 
to reach the dressing post. Pearl was losing blood 
and getting weak, but still calm. I am sure he was 
more calm than I was. While his wound was be- 
ing dressed I telephoned and reported the accident 
to Stevenson. I reported that I would remain at 
Houdrement with Pearl until he could be moved. 
There was some question as to whether he might be 
obliged to stay all night, but it was finally decided 
to move him back to the hospital at Beveaux with- 
out waiting. 

It was now pitch dark and the roads were crowd- 
ed with traffic coming toward the front. Progress 
was extremely slow on the way back. We would 
perhaps drive a quarter of a mile and then be held 
up for a quarter of an hour. Shells were arriving 
and shells were departing. It was a bad night, but 
all nights were hideously bad in front of Verdun. 
Whenever we stopped, I would open the little front 
door of the car and ask Pearl how he felt and al- 
ways would come back the reply, "All right." Once 

66 



The Big Shells Come Over 



we were held up for an unusually long time and I 
walked ahead to see what was holding up the traffic. 
It was a large gun that had become ditched and 
men and horses and trucks were pulling and groan- 
ing and straining. Finally we were on our way 
and without further bad delays we reached the hos- 
pital at Beveaux. It had taken us two hours to 
cover less than ten miles. 

I saw Pearl carried from his stretcher and tucked 
in bed and then I could not refrain from telling him 
what I felt: "Pearl, you have got about the finest, 
coolest nerve of any man I have ever seen." 



67 



XV 

Under the Shell Shower 

Still the attack did not take place and still we 
were staying on and getting very tired. 

On the morning and afternoon of the twentieth, 
I made several trips to Houdremont. Late in the 
afternoon we heard that the long delayed and much 
heralded attack would start that night. As I was 
returning to Houdremont about five o'clock, Ste- 
venson instructed me to wait there until midnight 
for wounded and then to return and go off duty. 

At dusk began the most terrific artillery firing 
that I had ever heard. There was not a second's 
cessation in the firing — it was as continual and rapid 
as the rolling of a snare drum. Standing on the hill 
in front of the poste de secours at Houdrement in 
front of the French guns the shells were slipping 
through the air; that is the way they sounded, as 
if they were being shot along greased planes. I 
not only heard the departing shells, I actually saw 
them — black spots flying through space. At first 
I was sceptical. I thought perhaps my vision had 
become impaired or perhaps it was the effect of 
deranged nerves, but I asked White if he could see 

68 



Under the Shell Shower 



what I did and he said he could. Night came on 
and soon the men in the trenches would "go over 
the top" for the final rush. If it was a strain for us, 
the waiting must have been a most terrible strain 
for them. There were several other cars besides 
mine at Houdrement as night came on, but I would 
be the last to leave. Stretcher bearers, their faces 
set and worn, came in bearing wounded. 

Patterson's car was loaded and he started back 
over the bombarded road for Beveaux. Hanna's 
car was loaded and he started back. White's car 
was loaded and at the foot of the hill his car broke 
down and under shrapnel fire the wounded were 
transferred to another car. Kirtsburg's car was 
loaded and he started back. Then I was the only 
one left. I sat down beside a stretcher bearer and 
we smoked in silence. The waiting seemed unbear- 
able, listening to the ceaseless thunder of the guns. 
I fully realized, when I did start, just what I must 
pass through to get back to the hospital at Beveaux, 
nearly ten miles away. I wondered how much 
longer I must wait. I began to realize for the first 
time how men were glad to be slightly wounded in 
order to get out of that hell. Pieces of shell were 
spattering around where we sat, so we went inside 
underground. A soldier who had been brought in 
just a little while before was raving and fighting — 



69 



An American Crusader 



he had gone insane. Gendarmes threw him to the 
floor. 

At ten o'clock an operation was being performed, 
and as we stood close to the operating table, my 
friend the stetcher bearer brought me a cup of tea. 
I thought at the moment the strain of waiting to 
go into the inferno outside was the worst exper- 
ience I had ever known. But at last the time came 
— my ambulance was loaded and I started back — 
not by way of Bras, because gas was coming in and 
settling in the lowlands, but up a steep long hill 
which at least would be comparatively free from 
gas — every inch of the way passing artillery pound- 
ing incessantly, so that I could not distinguish the 
difference between the sound of arriving and de- 
parting shells. The flashes of fire in my face were 
so blinding that I was obliged time and again to 
pause and get my bearings, to avoid running off 
the road. 

Three times while pulling up that long hill, the 
engine of my car stalled and I would climb over the 
wounded soldier sitting by my side and get the en- 
gine started again. I felt fatigued almost to the 
breaking point. I felt sure that if I reached Be- 
veaux I would be physically unable to drive again 
that night. I thought of the weary, drawn faces of 
those stretcher bearers back at Houdremont, si- 
lently going out and silently returning with their 

70 



I- P-;F> ? 






• , > 










\ 






-": 



J. ( . \ ▼'■vl.. 






« « < 







03 

-id 

3 



Under the Shell Shower 



burdens. I thought of my own face. This was 
not vanity — it was simply that my face seemed to 
pinch at the cheek bones. 

On I went until my car, jerking and limping on 
three cylinders, drew up on the grounds at the Be- 
veaux hospital. But after the car had stopped, it 
still seemed to be moving. Others told me they 
had experienced the same sensation, when they had 
almost reached the point of exhaustion. 

I walked over to our dining tent — stumbled over 
a guy rope and went inside. I had absolute confi- 
dence in the forethought of Stevenson. I struck 
a match, found some cold meat, a piece of bread 
and a cup of pinard ; then I tumbled into my cot. 

All along the front I could hear the incessant 
pounding of the guns, like the rolling of a snare 
drum, and then I fell asleep. 



71 



XVI 

Aftermath of Battle 

The attack had taken place — thousands had been 
killed and wounded on both sides of the lines, but 
the French had taken many German prisoners. 
They had advanced their lines — they had gained 
important hills. The Germans had been driven 
back. The attack had been a success. 

But still no relief came for us, we must stay on, 
"just for three or four days longer," through the 
counter attack of the Germans. We stayed on 
through the counter attack. Events were happen- 
ing fast to us. A couple of our men had taken sick 
— had broken down under the strain and been sent 
in to Paris. Gamble had broken his arm cranking 
his car and he was sent in to Paris. Oiler developed 
appendicitis and was sent to a hospital a little fur- 
ther back from the lines for an operation. The hos- 
pital where he went was shelled and some of the oc- 
cupants were killed. Oiler had stayed on much 
longer than most men would in his condition. Holt 
was gassed — Buhl was gassed — Patterson was 
gassed; but they stayed on. Drivers were all hav- 
ing narrow escapes. 

72 



Aftermath of Battle 



Young Tapley had just loaded his car with 
wounded when a big shell came shrieking in. Tap- 
ley threw himself on his face as the shell struck and 
exploded close to his car. The sides of the car were 
blown out and all the wounded were instantly 
killed. White was lying on his face close to him. 
Another car was squarely hit and completely de- 
molished. Fortunately no one was in it at the mo- 
ment. Cram, while driving at night, wearing a gas 
mask, drove over a twenty-foot embankment — he 
rolled out of the car on a dead horse — he fell into a 
trench on a dead man. A gendarme on horseback, 
shot in the breast by shrapnel, toppled from his horse 
directly in front of Purdy's car. There was not a 
single car in the Section which was not hit at least 
once. "Red" Day, who had succeeded Pearl as 
mechanician, was kept working night and morning 
and his untiring toil helped to save the Section and 
keep it rolling. 

We had been relieved from the run to Houdre- 
mont and were now centring our efforts on the 
posts as far as Fort Douaumont ; and that was worse, 
because the roads were exposed to view most of the 
way. The country was laid absolutely barren and 
along the way, men burrowed holes in the ground 
and lived like rats — and with them. In the day time 
we might drive along those roads and see scarcely 
a human being, and yet thousands of human beings 

73 



An Amencan Crusader 



were all about us. As we drove along, rats would 
scurry across the roads. Once I saw a dead rat in 
the middle of the road and it made me pessimistic. 
Dead horses were lying about which long since 
should have been covered over had time permitted. 
Sometimes wounded horses were staggering about 
the road, suffering pitifully and impeding traffic. 
On one of these occasions, our French Lieutenant 
Reymond drove out and with a revolver shot sev- 
eral of the wounded horses and then had them 
cleared from the road. Under fire Reymond was 
calm, he was magnificent. Back at Louvois I had 
liked Reymond, but at Verdun I admired him. 

Along the roads I sometimes saw big shell holes, 
enormous craters which made me very thoughtful. 
We were under fire day and night, whether on or 
off duty. Overhead, we daily watched the air duels 
of the avions. Sometimes a German plane would 
come across, flying straight, swift and low to attack 
an observation balloon and as it opened fire, we 
would see the man in the observation basket shoot 
straight down through the air, then his parachute 
would open up and perhaps he would land in safety. 
On one occasion I saw a French plane collapse in 
the air and come swirling down like a dead leaf — 
down, down, crashing to the ground, and I drove 
on not feeling a single sensation. I was dead 



74 



Aftermath of Battle 



tired and had passed the stage of feeling a thrill 
even of horror. 

At night the avions were always overhead, drop- 
ping bombs — sometimes a munition plant would be 
hit and explosion after explosion would light the 
sky for several hours. Still we stayed on — the re- 
lief did not come. 

And while we were voluntarily and willingly, yes 
even very cheerfully, under fire for the cause, it 
was most shocking to read in the papers that dis- 
loyalty went unpunished back in the United States. 
Our troops Over There are entitled to the assurance 
that it is not safe for anyone at home to stab them 
in the back. 



75 



XVII 

In the Valley of the Shadow 

On the morning of September first, after we had 
been at Verdun for a month under fire, as we were 
eating breakfast, three Englishmen walked into our 
dining tent. They were members of Section One, 
English Ambulance Corps. They informed us 
that their Section had been sent up to relieve us. 
We were elated. We invited them to sit down for 
breakfast with us, for we wanted to be decently 
polite and reserved. A little later it turned out they 
had been misinformed. They had merely been sent 
up to assist us. We were dejected. We were to 
stay on, "just three or four days longer." 

The French were going to follow up their suc- 
cess of August twentieth with another attack which 
would take place " 'most any day" and then we 
would be sent back for rest. The centre of this at- 
tack was to take place in front of Fort Douau- 
mont, and, if anything, it would be harder on us 
than when we were at Haudremont on the twen- 
tieth. 

The attack took place on the seventh of Septem- 
ber and while some ground was gained, the success 
was not as decisive as the previous attack. 

76 



In the Valley of the Shadow 



But the relief did not come for us, we were to 
stay on, "just for two or three days longer," through 
the counter attack of the Germans. 

Personally I was playing out very rapidly. I 
was losing the ability to relax and recuperate when 
off duty. I was losing the ability to sleep — I was 
reaching the stage of premonitions. I hoped that 
I might last out until relief came. I wanted to 
finish decently. I was afraid of myself — I was 
afraid I might turn coward — I was afraid I might 
turn quitter. 

Then came a drive that I shall always remember. 
It was during the counter attack of the Germans. 
I shall always remember it, for one reason, because 
I was almost tempted to turn coward and quit. 

The wounded were coming in fast at Douaumont, 
both French and German, and all of our cars were 
on duty — at least all that were able to run. It was 
just about noon when I started, and the sun was 
shining cheerfully enough overhead but it was hell 
on earth. A short distance out I passed one of the 
English cars coming in and the driver shouted to 
me to have my gas mask ready. I confess I had a 
feeling of fear. I had seen the victims of poison 
gas and I had a greater dread of that than I had of 
shells, if such a thing were possible, and besides a 
couple of nights before during a period that I had 
been on constant duty for thirty hours in which time 

77 



An American Crusader 



I had punctured six tires, had had a slight touch of 
gas and had felt rather ragged ever since. About 
four miles out, I passed one of our cars and the 
driver called to me something about big shells and 
gas. I stopped to call back for more particulars, 
but he was too far back to hear me. I was waver- 
ing but I drove on. A little further and I could see 
the shells coming in. I could see the gas clouds. I 
stopped my car — I got out and then I had the hard- 
est argument I have ever had with myself. First I 
argued: "It is suicide to go on, I am justified in 
turning back and reporting the road is impassable." 
Then I argued with myself, "But if I do go on and 
am hit, the agony will be over with in a few min- 
utes, but if I turn back, the agony will be with me 
the rest of my life." So I put on my gas mask 
and drove on. 

Approaching the brow of the hill, I saw three of 
our cars drawn up alongside the road. I stopped 
my car directly behind them and walked ahead. 
The engine of one of the cars was still running, but 
the cars were all deserted. At that minute a shell 
struck just at the brow of the hill. The stop had 
undoubtedly saved me. I ran down an embank- 
ment into a deserted dug-out and there I crouched, 
sweltering in my gas mask. A few minuter later I 
ran out, jumped into my ambulance, passing the 
three deserted cars and drove on, trembling so that 

78 



In the Valley of the Shadow 



I could scarcely keep my feet on the right pedals. 
I reached the post at Douaumont and there in the 
entrance was our French Lieutenant Reymond in 
his steel helmet, calm and undisturbed, directing 
and assisting in the loading of the ambulances. He 
quietly and good-naturedly took me to task because 
my boots were not properly laced. I gave him a 
cigarette and lighted one myself. Then I went in- 
side the post where tea was being ladled out to the 
stretcher bearers. This steadied me a bit. I went 
out. The place was littered with wounded, mostly 
Germans. Lieutenant Reymond assisted me in 
lifting wounded Germans into the car. 

Then I drove back and went off duty. Some time 
in the middle of the night I had a terrible night- 
mare and went through the whole experience over 
again, and in it I dreamed that I had an urgent call 
to go back to the same post. I woke up, but the 
dream had been so vivid that I really thought I had 
received a call. I pulled on my boots and, partly 
dressed, started for my car. Stevenson and "Red" 
Day who were out there informed me there had 
been no call and sent me back to bed. Stevenson 
gave me a drug to make me sleep. Later, I found 
that "Red" Day deliberately fixed my car so it 
would not run in the event of my receiving any more 
imaginary calls in the night. 

It was the day following that, as I was sitting on 

79 



An American Crusader 



the end of my cot about to lie down, a shell struck 
outside and a piece of the shell about the size of an 
inkwell ripped a hole in the tent and struck on my 
pillow. I picked it up while it was still hot, walked 
out and showed it to Lieutenant Reymond and we 
laughed together over the incident. Lieutenant 
Reymond' s laugh was fairly hearty. 

On the fifteenth of September, after forty-five 
days and forty-five nights under shell fire day and 
night, we received orders to go on repose. A little 
while later Stevenson packed me in his staff car 
and started me on my way to Paris to see a doctor. 

I was not elated — I was utterly dejected. I had 
wanted to finish strong and I had all but finished 
in the discard. "Take a month off or as long as you 
need, but I want you to come back," was Steve's 
kind and cheering parting, as the car pulled down 
the road. 

The men in the Section had all been wonderful. 
Lieutenant Reymond had been magnificent, but I 
am sure but for the brainy, watchful, sympathetic 
leadership of William Yorke Stevenson, the Sec- 
tion would never have held together those long days 
and nights, in the seething, shrieking, blood-stained 
hell in front of Verdun — "The valley of the shadow 
of death." 



80 



XVIII 

In Paris 

On leaving the Section, I was feeling too tired 
and dejected to experience any deep regrets that 
I would not be with my friends for the celebration 
which had been planned upon reaching Bar le Due. 
Also I was feeling a little depressed in starting off 
for Paris broke, penniless, not a franc in my pocket. 
As a matter of fact I had been in that financial con- 
dition (if such a condition can be called financial) 
for nearly two months, because a cablegram which 
I had sent to the United States the latter part of 
July had not reached its destination. Whether it 
had been lost in the ocean or had been confiscated 
and hypothecated for what it was worth by the 
enemy, I shall never know. Enough to say that I 
was broke. 

During those long weary days and nights and 
weeks, I had not possessed the price of a cigarette 
and during that time I had grown to have the firm- 
est convictions that anyone who is opposed to send- 
ing tobacco to the Allies is either most happily 
ignorant of the nerve-racking strain of war or is 
out and out pro-German. 

81 



An American Crusader 



Yet I was not allowed to suffer too much, for my 
friends in the Section, evidently believing that I 
was honest, were very kind to me, so I managed to 
have a smoke with a fair degree of regularity. I 
borrowed two francs from Stockwell with which I 
bought a pipe in which I smoked Ned Townsend's 
"granulated" or even the terrible French tobacco 
when I thought that Ned Townsend might feel that 
I was imposing on him too much. I was rather 
clumsy at rolling cigarettes, but Frank Farnham 
was very helpful in that respect. He became so 
accustomed to performing this kind service for me 
that all I had to do was to look at him and say, 
"Farney" and out would come his bag of tobacco. 

A few days before leaving the Section, I had 
written in to Paris to despatch a second cablegram 
to the United States and I hoped upon reaching 
Paris I would find the essential reply waiting for 
me at the banking house of Morgan-Harjes. 

Just as I was about to get into the Staff car to 
start for Paris, it was "Farney" who came up to 
me and handed me twenty francs to see me through 
the journey. 

It was midnight when I reached Paris and I was 
completely tired out. I engaged a taxicab and told 
the chauffeur to drive to Henry's, Number Eleven, 
Rue Volney. Henry's Hotel had been the semi- 
official headquarters of Section One in Paris prac- 

82 



In Paris 

tically since the war started. Here at least I could 
make myself known. 

To be sure, I had some excellent letters to people 
in Paris but I certainly was not going to use them 
to establish credit, and I did not feel up to social 
calls. 

Before the war, Henry's had been something of a 
rendezvous for rich sporting men, those who fol- 
lowed the races and the like. Since the war, it was 
still patronized by those who had gone there before 
and also by aviators, ambulanciers, army officers, 
French, English and American. Henry had a tran- 
sient business and he also held a clientele. When I 
had been there in June, I had seen certain well 
dressed, well groomed young and middle aged men 
drifting in at certain hours. I saw these same faces 
there again in September and also saw them again 
in December. I wondered what their occupations 
might be, either real or ostensible. Almost any day 
between five and six, Henry could be seen shaking 
dice with his clientele. 

Henry was a little short trim fellow with a florid 
face, grey moustache and usually dressed immacu- 
lately in a frock coat. He wore glasses when he 
took inventory of the cash register. When he took 
inventory of people, he usually squinted his eyes into 
little slits, so that people who were being inven- 
toried would scarcely realize that they were being 

83 



An American Crusader 



noticed. Among foreigners and Parisians, Henry 
was one of the characters of the city. I say "was," 
because Henry has since passed on to another 
world. When I reached there the hotel was closed 
but a ring on the bell brought the concierge to the 
door in his pajamas and bath robe. I was shown 
to a room with a bed in it, white pillows, clean sheets 
— and it was very nice. 

I was not long in getting to bed and not much 
longer in getting to sleep, but in my sleep I was 
once more back at Verdun. I could hear the aero- 
planes whirring overhead — I could hear the burst- 
ing shells — I could see the dead horses on the 
crowded roads, the rats and filth, the desolation of 
the front. Not a very peaceful sleep ; and when I 
awoke I felt somewhat confused as I looked over 
toward the windows and saw the heavy curtains 
drawn together. A clock was ticking on the man- 
tel. It was nearly nine o'clock. Beside the bed I 
observed a telephone and without raising my head 
from the soft, comfortable, clean white pillow, 3 
reached for it. I might be broke, but at least I was 
going to have one good meal to fortify me for the 
day. The office answered the call. "Grapefruit," 
I said; "soft boiled eggs, toast with butter on it, 
coffee — and a pack of cigarettes." I ordered an ex- 
pensive brand of cigarettes, as I was afraid it might 



84 



^ In Paris 

hurt my credit to call for cheap ones. Then I closed 
my eyes and dozed peacefully. 

A little later in the morning, I met Henry. We 
sat down on the sofa at the foot of the stairs, and I 
told him Ned Townsend, Stevenson and the other 
men in the Section had sent him their best regards. 
Then I told him I was broke but added quickly 
that I expected a cablegram any day — perhaps to- 
day. Henry was very nice and polite about it and 
told me not to worry. 

When I went out of the hotel, I intended to go 
over to the offices of Morgan-Harjes and learn 
whether a reply had come to my second cablegram, 
but I really did not feel strong enough to stand any 
unfavorable news. A hack driver coming along 
Rue Volney cracked his whip and I almost fell on 
the pavement. My nerves seemed to be temporarily 
shattered. I still had a few francs left that "Far- 
ney" had given me, so I called a taxi-cab and drove 
to 21 Rue Reynouard, the headquarters of the 
American Field Service. Dr. Lines looked me over 
and informed me that my heart was in bad condi- 
tion and that I needed a complete rest. He sug- 
gested sending me out to a convalescent hospital in 
the country, but I did not feel well enough to go to 
a hospital — I did not want to see the inside of a 
hospital and — besides, I was waiting for a cable- 
gram from the States. Later in the day I pulled 

85 



An American Crusader 



myself together and went down Boulevard Hauss- 
mann to the offices of Morgan-Harjes. About that 
place I remembered having written to my partner 
in the banking business, that while their furniture 
is not as handsome as ours, they seemed to have more 
customers. 

At Morgan-Harjes there was no news for me. 

I went back to Henry's and retired for the after- 
noon. I arose for supper, which I had in the cafe — 
and signed for it; a short walk as far as the Cafe 
de la Paix, back to Henry's and to bed, back to 
sleep, back to Verdun — back to the shrieking shells, 
the whirr of the aeroplanes, the rats, and the crowd- 
ed, bloodstained roads. 

Waking the next morning, I reached for the 
telephone, breakfasted in bed and dozed until noon, 
then walked over to Morgan-Harjes. 

No news — 

After a fashion I have learned to study expres- 
sion in faces; and on the days immediately follow- 
ing, when I got out of bed and went to Morgan- 
Harjes, I could tell by the expression of the clerk's 
face before he spoke to me that there was no news. 
I also noticed by the expression on Henry's face 
that I should begin to worry. He was not wearing 
his glasses but he was squinting his eyes. 

I spent most of my time in bed. I needed the rest. 
The crowds, the boulevards, the early evening cafe 

86 



In Paris 

life, the movies, the Follies — none of these had any 
allurement for me. I think it was on the fifth day 
that I ran into my poet friend young Bob Hillyer 
of Harvard and South Orange, New Jersey. He 
too had been out to the front with an Ambulance 
Section and was now on his way back to Cambridge, 
Massachusetts, where he was going to accept a pro- 
fessorship in the university which has made that 
town fairly famous. 

I was very glad to see Bob Hillyer again in spite 
of the fact that he told me I looked perfectly terri- 
ble and should really return to the States and not 
think of going back to the front. He asked me to 
dinner with himself and a friend of his. I pro- 
tested, mildly suggesting that they take dinner 
with me at Henry's, but the stronger will prevailed 
and the three of us had dinner together at a little 
quiet outdoor cafe underneath the awnings. 

They walked back to Henry's with me, where my 
pride and hospitality got the better of my judg- 
ment. 

Wouldn't they come in and have a little cordial 
before going along? 

Certainly ! 

We went inside — the cordials were ordered — I 
laid down three francs. 

"Four francs, fifty, Mr. Rice," said George, who 



87 



An American Crusader 



had come to know me by name from having served 
me my breakfast in bed. 

I picked up the three francs, put them in my 
pocket and said, "Please put it on my bill, George." 
It is really terrible to be apparently well-to-do and 
not have any money to do it with. 

Hillyer and his friend said "Good-night," and I 
promptly went to bed. It was a little past midnight 
I think and I had been fast asleep for some time, 
back at Verdun with the bursting shells and scurry- 
ing and scurrilous rats, when I suddenly became 
conscious of the fact that a firm hand was resting on 
each one of my shoulders. I awoke with a start and 
there stood Ned Townsend smiling broadly. 

"Get up," he said. "Don't you know it is your 
turn out to post?" At the foot of the bed stood 
"Red" Day. They had just reached Paris and in- 
formed me they had come on from the front to cheer 
me up a bit. "Farney" was with them too. 

Why say I was glad to see them all? They sat 
on the side of the bed and told me about the ban- 
quet at Bar le Due and Ned told me that "Red" 
and "Farney" were slated for the Croix de Guerre, 
which was very good news. 

Townsend had received the Croix de Guerre a 
long time before. 

We had late breakfast together and they paid for 
it and then I went around to Morgan-Harjes. I 

88 



In Paris 

read the expression on the clerk's face as I stepped 
up to the window. When I left, I discovered there 
was a spring to my step which had been absent on 
the previous days. 

I walked rapidly back to Henry's and into the 
hotel. Henry was in the hallway at the foot of the 
stairs. As he saw me, I observed the expression on 
his face — he was not wearing his glasses but his eyes 
were squinted into little slits. I knew what was 
coming as he said he would like to speak to me. I 
cheerfully replied: "It is all right, the cablegram 
has come." 

When I saw Ned Townsend, "Red" Day and 
"Farney," I told them they were to have supper at 
a certain quiet little cafe of mine, opposite the "Chi- 
nese Umbrella." 



XIX 

Aillianville 

Though my leave had not expired, I decided to 
return to the front with Townsend, "Red" Day and 
"Farney." The Section had moved down into Lor- 
raine, in the foot hills of the Vosges, the land of 
Joan of Arc. We found our Section in the town of 
Aillianville. There a barn had been converted into 
a dining room and up in the loft some of the men 
had placed their cots, while others were billeted in 
the homes of the townspeople — plain but wonder- 
fully kindhearted peasant folks whose dress was in 
keeping with the surroundings and who splashed 
around the muddy streets in their wooden sabots — 
and the streets were often muddy, for it rained a 
great deal of the time. But in spite of frequent 
rains it was none the less delightful here. It was a 
most pleasant contrast to the desolation in front 
of Verdun — to see unmolested forests, the foliage 
turning to autumn colors — to see cows grazing in 
the fields — sometimes a dog on a frolic, barking at 
their heels — to see peasant women sitting in the 
fields with their knitting and keeping a watchful 
eye on the cattle — and the war not so very many 
miles away. 

90 



Aillianville 



Ned Townsend and I lost no time in finding quar- 
ters in the home of a peasant. The house, which 
could not have been built later than the seven- 
teenth century, had two rooms and a garret. One 
room with open fire place served as a kitchen, living 
room and bedroom all combined. A bed was built 
in the wall and during the day was hidden by cur- 
tains. Here slept the patron Tourgant and his 
wife. Townsend and I took the other room, which 
had two beds in it. One of the window panes was 
gone, but this was none the less luxury. Our work 
was light and we enjoyed the life to the fullest ex- 
tent. We could retire at night with a sense of se- 
curity that we were not likely to be disturbed be- 
fore morning. The house stood under the shadow 
of an ancient church and if we did lie awake, we 
could hear the clock in the steeple chiming off the 
quarter hours. It was sometimes pleasant to awak- 
en in the middle of the night to hear the clock strik- 
ing the hour and then to fall asleep again with the 
thought that there were some hours left for undis- 
turbed rest. 

It was usually Madame Tourgant, with wrinkled 
face, bronzed like a gipsy, who called us in the 
morning and set a cup of hot coffee by our beds. 
Sometimes when we came in late, chilled and wet 
with the rain, Monsieur Tourgant would get out of 
bed, pull on a few clothes, kick the dying embers of 

91 



An American Crusader 



the faggots on the hearth into life and heat a cup of 
coffee for us. And so if there was some work to 
do, there was time for rest and relaxation. 

In this country, it had once been the sport of 
kings to hunt the wild boar. Now the kings were 
otherwise engaged, but it was still the sport of peas- 
ants and poilus. Kings do not control all the sport 
there is — especially now. 

One night we went out on a wild boar hunt, skirt- 
ing the edge of a thick forest, not far from Aillian- 
ville down in the direction of the ancient town of 
Grand. Midnight, our hunt being unsuccessful, we 
sat down on the ground in the moonlight and en- 
joyed the feast which we had brought with us. We 
did not have another opportunity to go boar hunting 
because of the rains, which caused Ned Townsend — 
or was it "Red" Day? — to complain that the ground 
was too wet to sit on. 

But if we had been unsuccessful on our hunt, our 
patron M. Tourgant fared better, bringing one in a 
couple of days later and the following night we were 
invited to sit around the open fireplace while Ma- 
dame Tourgant put slices of it to sizzling over the 
faggots on the open fireplace. She prepared other 
things for the supper too. Some French soldiers 
that we knew were with us and I am sure 'most any 
king would have relinquished his crown for a night, 



92 



Aillianville 



to have sat under those old blackened rafters and 
enjoyed the sport of ordinary mortals. 

Sometimes in Aillianville we would drop into the 
little "Cheval Blanc Cafe" to write letters or sit up 
at the open log fireplace with Madame Julie and her 
husband the patron and while drying our feet which 
were usually wet, read the romances of Alexandre 
Dumas and the like; sometimes the butcher maid- 
ens from the neighboring town of Grand would 
come driving along with their butcher wagon and 
from them we would procure a slice of ham or bacon 
which Madame Julie would cook for us with an 
omelette. Sometimes in the early evening, we 
played dominoes in the "Cheval Blanc" for stakes 
which were not ruinous. In the early evening 
Madame Julie's niece Marie might drop in to help 
her with the dishes. 

Marie was a cripple girl, but she was none the less 
the queen of all Aillianville. Her father owned his 
own comfortable little home and was the possessor 
of more cows than anyone else in the town. Marie's 
cheeks were bronzed from the sun while watching 
her father's cows. Her teeth shone white when she 
smiled. She had a noble brow and a regal face. 
Given the opportunity of two or three years in a 
fashionable finishing school, provided she did not be- 
come too highly educated, Marie could have been 
transplanted to Madison Avenue or Rittenhouse 

93 



An American Crusader 



Square and scored a decided hit. I have it from one 
who lives not far from Madison Avenue and con- 
firmed by one who lives not far from Rittenhouse 
Square. Marie will probably marry a poilu return- 
ing from the war with one arm and a Croix de 
Guerre and live happily ever after in the peaceful 
town of Aillianville. 

Sometimes sitting by the log fire in the "Cheval 
Blanc," we would hear the clank of wooden sabots 
on the stone pavement outside, the door would, open 
and old Jacques, the blacksmith of rugged voice and 
jet black beard, would bluster in for his bottle of 
wine. 

We lived with the peasants and loved them. They 
were kind, polite, chivalrous — they were real. 

On occasion, there was music in the evening in the 
"Lion d'Or Cafe" further down the street. One 
night, toward the end of October, we held a dance 
in the "Lion d'Or." A guitar and a mandolin fur- 
nished the music. The villagers came around in 
their wooden sabots. French soldiers in their blue 
uniforms were there. Back in the shadow of a cor- 
ner, a group of officers sat enjoying the scene, no 
doubt wishing they might take an active part. In 
the course of the evening, a young fellow was lifted 
on a table and sang "Madelon," a song popular with 
the French just then. 

It was pretty close to midnight when a message 

94 



Aillianville 



came in that one of our cars had broken down along 
the road about ten miles out. A relief party was 
organized and the dance came to an end. 

It had been snowing in the late afternoon and 
evening. When we went out of the Lion d'Or the 
moon was breaking through the clouds, and the 
streets, tile roofs of the houses and the church 
steeples were white with snow. 

Not one of us who was not a little sad a few days 
later on receiving orders to move from the town of 
Aillianville to the ancient town of Beaufromont, 
built on the side of a steep hill. We were glad that 
the villagers also expressed sorrow at the parting. 
Some of those plain peasant women were kind 
enough to weep a little as they smilingly waved "Au 
Voir" to us. 

Our old patron, the boar hunter Tourgant, was 
so anxious to bid us a fitting farewell when we 
started in the early morning that he stayed up most 
of the night. When we moved out of the town he 
was asleep in the blacksmith shop of old Jacques of 
rugged voice and jet black beard. 

As we drew up in line outside the village, some- 
one commemorated the departure in verse : 

Farewell, my Aillianville, in fair Lorraine, 
Town where sun shines through the rain, 
The "Cheval Blanc," the "Lion d'Or," 
"Au Voir," farewell forever more. 

95 



An American Crusader 



I was with you when woods were brown, 
When boars were hunted on the down, 
When log fire crackled on the hearth 
And in the evening there was mirth 
And music in the town I love so well, 
Oh, Aillianville, au 'voir, farewell. 

During our stay in Aillianville, Section One, 
American Field Service Volunteers, was taken over 
by the American army and there ceased to be any 
volunteer ambulance service. My work was done, 
but the Section being short of men I agreed to stay 
on indefinitely until new men came on. 

One day, to be exact, Thanksgiving morning, out- 
side the town of Neuf chateau, on the road to Nancy, 
I saw some French troops drawn up on review. A 
band was playing at their head. By a strange coin- 
cidence I had heard that same band playing once 
before back in Houdainville as those same troops 
were advancing for the big offensive in front of 
Verdun. 

On this Thanksgiving morning, the review being 
over, the men stacked arms and walked about the 
field. One of the soldiers walked over to where I 
was talking with some friends. He wore a steel 
helmet, but underneath the visor I could see a scar 
across his forehead and there was a scar on his cheek. 
He asked me if I remembered him and I was obliged 

96 



Ailliarwille 



to confess that I did not. He then informed me 
that on September second, in front of Douaumont, 
when he had received these two scars, I had carried 
him back. No wonder I had not recognized him. 

Then as we stood there I heard another band 
playing in the distance. It grew nearer and nearer 
till at last I saw an American flag rising over the 
brow of the hill and back of it swinging along the 
road four thousand men in khaki. 

I confess I felt a thrill! 



97 



XX 

Vive l'Amerique! Vive la France! 

The delightful days at Aillianville will always 
stand out in my memory in marked contrast with 
the forty-five days and forty-five long nights that 
we spent before Verdun. I shall always remember 
a night in a dug-out in front of Verdun toward the 
end of our long siege. The place was dimly lighted. 
At one end was a table on which there was a tele- 
phone. A French officer sat there writing reports 
and answering telephone calls. "'Alio! 'Alio!" he 
would say, taking down the receiver. Along the 
wall was a wooden bench on which sat two weary 
poilus, their heads nodding under their steel hel- 
mets. On the floor, a wounded soldier lay on a 
stretcher. Outside I could hear the firing of the 
guns, the trampling of horses, the straining and 
groaning of the heavy munition trucks pulling up 
the grade. 

I was very tired, in fact I had reached the stage 
of premonitions. I felt that luck had been with me 
just as long as might be expected and in the fagged, 
depressed condition of my brain I felt quite cer- 
tain that my next time out would be my last. I have 

98 



Vive V Ameriquel Vive la France! 

seen others pass through the same stage when they 
have been worn out. I suppose Alan Seeger must 
have felt like that when he wrote his wonderful 
poem "I have a rendezvous with Death." 

As I sat there waiting for my turn to go out and 
expecting a call each time the telephone rang, I 
got to thinking of my early impressions upon reach- 
ing France. It seemed a long time since I had 
landed in France. Then I got to thinking of my 
later impressions after coming to the Front. To 
keep my mind from dwelling on what was happen- 
ing outside, where I must soon go, I took some 
scraps of paper and wrote a brief summary of my 
impressions, supposing that it might be the last 
words I would write. I had just finished writing 
when the telephone rang. The officer took down 
the receiver, " 'Alio! 'Alio! San Fein!" The offi- 
cer turned to me. It was my turn out. I put the 
scraps of paper in my pocket, slipped into my heavy 
coat, put on my steel helmet, shook hands with the 
officer and went out. 

It was a short run but a bad one, shells were ar- 
riving and shells were departing. I found an Abri 
had been squarely hit and badly torn up. I got 
four wounded, who were in very bad condition. I 
drove back and got through. My premonitions 
were not realized. It was sunrise when I drove 
away from the hospital and my work for the night 

99 



An American Crusader 



was over. Coming down the road I met Holt. He 
told me he was having trouble with his car and he 
asked me to wait while he made some repair. I 
drew up alongside the road, put my head down on 
the steering wheel and went to sleep. A few min- 
utes later Holt woke me up and we drove on to- 
gether. A short while later, over hot coffee, I con- 
fessed to Holt the premonitions I had the night be- 
fore. And then he confessed that he had had them, 
too. Then I read to him what I had written: 

"I gained my first impression of France while 
sailing up the broad Gironde River, flanked by its 
stately trees, its green and rolling fields, its Catho- 
lic spires, its old chateaux and ancient monasteries. 
I came on to Paris. I saw and admired that magni- 
ficent city which stoically smiles through sorrow. I 
stood at the tomb of Napoleon but I did not shed a 
tear; I sat in Notre Dame Cathedral on a Sabbath 
afternoon, and there I saw women with faces sad 
but brave, kneeling in prayer; I heard the organ's 
sacred notes; perhaps I shed a tear, why should I 
say? I sat at one of the many crowded tables in 
front of the famous Cafe de la Paix and there I 
watched the Congress of the Armies of the Allied 
Nations, sipping drinks, smoking cigarettes, passing 
the time of day. I drove up the sloping, tree lined 
Champs Elysees at sunset and through the Arch 
of Triumph. At its crest I saw the tinted sky 

100 



Vive VAmerique! Vive la France! 

and clouds and tops of trees and as I drove on 
through the peaceful groves of the Bois du Bou- 
logne by moonlight I thought that though I loved 
my native land I would love to live in France. 

"Then I came on out to the battle front. I passed 
through desolate villages, past desecrated cathe- 
drals; I saw deserted homes and shell wrecked 
towns. I heard the thunder and roar of many guns, 
I heard the crash of avion bombs, I heard the shriek, 
the whistle, the moan of shells. I saw the horror 
and havoc that these things wrought, the wounded, 
the dying, the countless dead. But through all the 
terrors of the days and nights I saw the noble Na- 
tion, fatigued, yet with Christlike resignation suffer- 
ing and bleeding so that others might live to enjoy 
an honorable repose. And I thought that the prayer 
of this noble Nation must be the prayer of Christ : 
'O Lord, forgive them, for they know not what 
they do !' And as I saw these things I thought that 
though I loved my Country, the land of Chance, 
though I loved my own Flag, I should be willing to 
die for France, but it has not thus far been willed 
and I am glad. I am glad to go on living and lov- 
ing France. She is our kin. Her blood is on our 
soil, our blood on hers. She is our sister country. 

"Vive l'Amerique! Vive la France!" 



101 



XXI 

Afterthoughts 

So now my story is told and as I close the pages 
of the book I pause to think and wonder if ever 
again I shall see France. I wonder if again I shall 
walk along the quays of the River Seine or up the 
sloping tree-lined Champs Elysees, or wander with 
friends around to the Cafe de la Paix, or if again I 
shall pass through the desolate villages at the front 
and hear the shrieking shells, the aeroplanes over- 
head singing in the night "Guerre, guerre, guerre," 
their monotonous song of death. I wonder if again 
I shall see those noble, weary people of our Sister 
Country fighting bravely against the Iron Hand; 
whether I shall go back to see our own flag being 
carried on to final victory; and rejoice that America 
at last has ridden into the field full armed, the 
Savior of France, as was once the Maid of Orleans. 

I wonder if I shall resist or follow that invisible 
finger beckoning to me — whether I shall listen to 
that voice whispering and saying to me, "Come 
back"? 

I wonder if again I shall see the towers of Rheims 

102 



Afterthoughts 



Cathedral or stand upon the hill beside the resting 
place of Norton ? 

I wonder if again some day I shall walk into the 
peaceful town of Aillianville and sit down by the 
crackling fire and visit my friend Tourgant, the 
boar hunter, and his wife; whether I shall some 
evening step in the "Cheval Blanc" and to Madame 
Julie and the patron, say, as I have said before: 
"Bon soir, Madame, bon soir, Monsieur"; whether 
sometime I shall sit with Marie and her husband, 
who will wear the Croix de Guerre upon his breast, 
and with them talk about the war. I wonder if I 
shall again go in the "Lion d'Or," and, in happy 
memory, hear the music as I did before, and if per- 
haps I shall see again my friends of Section One 
in France? 

I wonder if I shall answer that voice which 
whispers to me as I walk along the crowded streets, 
which whispers as I lie awake at night, which whis- 
pers in my sleep and says to me — "Come back." 

FINIS 



103 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: „,.. <wh 

PreservationTechnologies 



.™^. RV0FC °NGRESS 




007 706 735 8 



